


Tempered Tales

by Ryan Smith (rasmith121)



Category: Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, Original Work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-02-29 02:58:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 54,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18769801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rasmith121/pseuds/Ryan%20Smith
Summary: Roghrin, Elyn, Schava, and Neville; four strangers that happen to converge in a small elven town on the outskirts of the forest. The threads of their lives become tangled, but mistrust and selfishness pull at them and threaten to unravel the group as they flee for their lives. Can this freshly-forged band of adventurers weather the trials ahead, or will a force beyond their world lead them to their deaths?





	1. Fire Hazard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You get everyone wrapped around your finger within moments of meeting you. Moments. You always get what you want, no matter what. It’s spoiled you to the point where you don’t even notice anymore.”

_Rohgrin_ heaved the handle of the forge’s bellows. Up, down. Up, down. As he did his own lungs had just enough air to defend his story. “I was over the river midday and I saw them. Two carriages with emblems flying above. It was a wolf’s head on a red field, I swear it!”

The two elven men that accompanied him in the workshop did not look up, but the younger one, Merodach, said, “None of the noble elven houses have solid red banners, Rohgrin. There’s house Torec, the crescent moon on a gold and red field, but that’s not even close.”

“I’m telling you that’s what I saw.”

“Less talk,” Garrett said without much real venom. He was the master smith and Merodach’s father, an elf of some uncountable years. “And you better temper your tales, boy, else no one will ever put their truth in you.”

As an apprentice, Rohgrin did not have much responsibility. The only metal he had smithed was iron nails, because that is where everyone starts, really. He could feel the lever for the leather chambers working welts into his soot-covered palms. It was sweaty work, but pumping the bellows is not quite as simple as that. There was also the composition of the fuel, and tending the coals, or the magical fire, or even both, depending on the piece. The charcoal and coke had to be checked for imperfections beforehand due to flares that could spark up and partially melt a blank or burn him or Garrett. And magic fire, while its heat could be precisely controlled, was always dangerous to work with due to its arcane nature alone. Even a seasoned thaumaturgist could lose concentration and singe their eyebrows.

It did not help that Rohgrin lacked any hint of magic. When arcane fire was required Garrett or Merodach provided it. When he had arrived two years previous they had encouraged him to practice, citing his diluted elven blood as enough of a reason to give it a try. They did not know how he had fancied himself a wizard when he was younger, that he had convinced his parents to find an arcane tutor and had spent months trying to connect with the ever-flowing magical essences that he was told suffuse the earth and air. That had been another time, a different life. Rohgrin considered himself lucky to be a blacksmith’s apprentice and tried to forget the days when he fancied himself an arcanist.

About ten minutes later Garrett motioned him to stop. The blacksmith pulled a dull orange blank from the furnace and began to hammer. The resounding clang of each strike made Rohgrin hurt behind each ear. He watched closely as Garrett started beveling, first at the point and then down towards where the hilt would be when it was finished. The blank of metal that they had cut and folded that morning started looking like a blade for the first time.

The hammering stopped suddenly. Rohgrin looked up at the smith, confused, then followed his gaze to the door of the workshop. Four people stood there, all of dark skin. Humans clearly, and dressed in livery that bespoke noble birth.

“Good afternoon, m’lord. What can I do for you?” Garrett asked, cautiously setting the hot blank and his hammer down.

The man in the middle swelled a bit. He had a well trimmed beard and a doublet that undoubtedly sweltered in the heat of the workshop. He was flanked by a woman who looked his own age on his right. A girl and a boy peered around them, although it is always hard to tell age with full-blooded humans. Through the door behind them all was at least one armed guard who stood on the threshold. Rohgrin took note of a black splotch on their breasts, framed in red. Closer now, he could see the emblem resembled a kraken, or at least some sort of many-armed monster.

The noble said, “I am Count Henry, of Settaque. A few scoundrels had the audacity to try and waylay us a few miles off, and in the scrap my sword was damaged.” He carefully produced a weapon from his side that gleamed silver and sapphire at the hilt, the blade matte with dried blood. It came to an abrupt end at a jagged angle about six inches short of where it should, by Rohgrin’s estimate.

Garrett stepped forward and the weapon was swung around as the Count offered him the hilt. The smith took it.

“I was hoping it could be repaired, as it seems I may have need of it for the remainder of my journey.”

“Do you have this part?” Garrett asked as he took the sword, indicating the broken tip.

The noble reached into a pouch at his side and withdrew a wad of rags, from which he then pulled two pieces of metal. They did not add up to the six inches of blade that Rohgrin thought was missing, and Garrett’s frown seemed to confirm that it would not make the sword whole.

“You are travelling. When do you need to be off by?”

“I would like to make haste, but I am not going to leave here unarmed and put my family in danger. I will add five crowns to whatever your usual fee is if the sword is repaired within two days.”

“The usual fee is thirty elven silver, or let’s say about four crowns since that’s what you’re carrying. But that would take me a week. I’ll give it my all, and if I can get it to you within two days it’ll be ten crowns. If it’s later it’ll be five. Won’t be more than four days, guaranteed.”

“Agreed.” The Count extended a hand. Garrett looked at it for a moment, then shifted the blade to his left hand and shook with his right. Rohgrin could almost see his shoulder muscles bulge as he tensed his iron like grip around the human’s fingers. The Count had the fortitude not to wince, which was no small feat.

Then the smith let go and turned to the forge. “Boys! Don’t just stand there, fire the bellows! Get me the fine tools.” As Rohgrin and Merodach sprang into action Garrett said to the Count, “I’m sure you realize the blade is not going to be as long as it was with this. I’ll either need to shorten and rebalance it or add more metal. Which would you prefer?”

“Add to it if you have to. Rebalancing it would unsettle my sword arm for weeks. If that is all. . .”

With that, the noble family of Settaque left the workshop.

Rohgrin heard Merodach lean over to him and say, “A wolf’s head? How could you not see it’s a kraken?”

“It was half a mile away!”

 

 **.** **.** **.**

 

 _Elyn_ , first daughter of the Count of Settaque, lay in fitful rest at the only inn in the town of Sharmest. The sound of a bellows wheezing in the night when you are trying to sleep is annoying on an average day. For Elyn, it had not been an average day.

She sat up in bed, careful not to wake her sister Lendrid. The sun had set an hour or so ago. The carriages were starting to get dreadfully cramped, so Father had rented two rooms at the local inn. Her elder brother John and younger brother Gearin were in the next room. Lendrid lay fast asleep. Olwind would be outside her door, but maybe if she was quiet she could get out the window. She felt gross about it, but since her wardrobe was in the carriages she dressed in the riding clothes and boots she had worn that day and. . .

“I can hear you Elyn.”

“Dammit.” She glanced at Lendrid. Still out like a snuffed lantern.

She changed direction, heading towards the door instead. Opening it, she said, “I can’t sleep with that racket. Let’s go downstairs and talk with these, er, villagers, shall we?”

“M’lady, downstairs is a tavern. An alehouse. A _saloon_. It is no place for a young lady such as yourself. Besides, the less people around means the less likely it is for someone to see you if. . .”

He trailed off.

Ironically, she had to push a pulse of energy down as her anger made her control slip. “What? If I go all witchy again? It hasn’t happened in weeks, Olwind.”

“That means you’re due.”

“Or maybe it’s gone,” she lied. She could feel the cold ball of energy in her chest bubble as she said the words. “What if we both went down? Then you could keep an eye on me, and you might find some extra silver on the stairs to spend while we’re down there.”

He stood there for a moment, then the hand that is always on his sword hilt moved forward, stopping palm upward in front of her. This was why she liked Olwind, Deshri took her oath to Father too seriously to be tempted by coin. She dropped a few silver crowns into her guard's waiting hand and skipped to the stairs.

In the room below a few of the locals were busy getting drunker and smellier, but it wasn’t incredibly busy. Elyn sat down and Olwind immediately sat opposite her, scanning the room and barely noticing how he could not quite fit in the seat with his armor and sword. The incessant clanging was still present here, but it was drowned out quite a bit by the ambient chattering of the other patrons.

After a moment a portly woman in an apron came over and asked, “Whatt’y’ll be havin’?

“A mead, and water for the lady.”

“Hey! Who’s buying again?”

The woman in the apron looked back and forth. Elyn gave her the best ‘he’s always like this’ look and the woman nodded and left.

“So, if you had made your escape out the window, and you managed to not break your ankle, where would you have gone exactly?”

The question caught her a little off guard, but she answered, “I. . . I hadn’t thought that far ahead, but it would probably involve killing a blacksmith.”

“. . . You know that’s not funny, Elyn.”

“What, don’t like black humor so soon after you’ve - ”

“Elyn! Enough.”

The silence that fell across the table was the opposite of pleasant. Elyn immediately felt bad. That had been a bit too far. Those sorts of things always just slipped out for her.

The aproned woman returned with a flagon in one hand and a glass of water in the other. She set them down, but quicker than either of the others could react Olwind reached over, snatched the glass up, and took a drink. Then he set it down. The woman looked horrified and sputtered an apology, but Olwind waved it off.

“How do you do it, Elyn?”

“Do what?” she asked, still confused.

“You get everyone wrapped around your finger within moments of meeting you. _Moments._ You always get what you want, no matter what. It’s spoiled you to the point where you don’t even notice anymore.” Handed the drink back over to Elyn. “Watered down spirits. Clear, and practically not even there, but there you have it. _Technically_ it’s poison.” The woman tried to apologize again but Olwind barked, “It’s fine! Leave us.”

She left.

A moment passed. Two more elves sat down at the table next to theirs, a man and a woman. Elyn took a drink from her glass. Sure enough, the water had a taste of alcohol to it, but it was faint. She was not sure if it was supposed to taste good pure, but as it was it reminded her of what a puddle might be like if it also burned a little going down.

“That witch is watching you.”

“What? Who?” She was careful enough not to immediately turn, but her curiosity demanded that she look.

“Opposite wall, four tables from the bar. He’s not wearing the usual fancy flowing robes, but his staff and the vials at his hip gave it away. Probably an alchemist, too. And he’s coming our way.”

As Olwind finished saying this, Elyn felt a presence at her left elbow. Turning, she saw a man with a distinct pallor, yellowish blonde hair, and a hawkish point of a nose that could only be on a high elf. He was dressed commonly but smelled clean enough, and a well-bound book hung from a chain at his hip among a collection of different colored vials.

“Greetings. My name is Neville Alun. I believe you are of house Settaque, correct? I thought I recognized your impresa.”

“Yes, I am Elyn of Settaque,” she answered, correcting his pronunciation. “This is Olwind, my chaperone.”

“A pleasure to meet you both. It’s good to know a member of such a noble house is well protected. I heard the roads have not been treating you kindly so caution is of the highest priority.”

Olwind went from impassive to grim, took a swig from his mug that drained it, and said, “If only there were enough alcohol to forget about how badly the roads have been treating us.”

Neville did not seem able to form a response to that.

“Alright what school do you study?” Olwind asked.

_Clang!_

_Clang!_

_Clang!_

Another round of metal smashing made itself heard, making Elyn grit her teeth. Even through the walls it was loud enough to give the high elf pause. When it was over he answered, “I actually have not progressed far enough to gain a particular focus, but I have given the idea some thought and I believe I’ll choose either abjuration or transfiguration.”

He snorted. “Is it true that a witch’s word is his soul?”

“Sir. . . I am a _mage_ , and I assure you of my trustworthiness, if that is your concern.”

Olwind gave him a hard look. “I’m going to get something to drink that’s stronger than this swill. You try anything and I have his Lordship’s permission to kill you.” With that, Olwind rose and left.

Neville looked at Olwind as he left, then at Elyn, then at the table.

“That was. . . odd.”

“Don’t worry about him, he does that with everyone.”

“Er, may I sit, my lady?”

She appraised him for a moment. “Sure.”

He sat.

The villagers were being merry around them, and the pair in the next table over were no exception. The woman laughed obnoxiously and pushed the man next to her, only to unbalance her own chair and fall backwards, almost hitting Elyn. She caught herself just in time and could hardly apologize through her laughter. She promptly declared she was too drunk and needed to leave.

Olwind noticed the commotion and glanced over, starting towards them, but Elyn waved him off. This drunk definitely did not realize she was in the presence of a noble, and she was leaving so it would not happen again. Olwind need not get involved. He scowled, but he turned back to the bar where he waited to be served.

“If I may, is he alright?” Neville asked.

Elyn considered her response this time. What could it hurt? “No. He is not. He killed two people today. My father killed another, and a fourth escaped.”

“Dear gods, such brutality. I am sorry to hear the roads have gotten so violent. And I am a little worried, I expect to be back on them in a few days.”

“I get the feeling they were waiting for a large ‘score’. I think that’s what I heard them say, anyway. Like a merchant’s cart or, well,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “Us.” She looked over at the bar, where Olwind waited for a drink.

“My dad cried afterwards,” Elyn blurted out. “After the attack today. He’s been taught how to fight, and he’s been in bouts and turneys, but I’m not sure he’s actually killed someone before today. And I’m sure Olwind _has_ killed before, but I guess that doesn’t make it easier.”

Turning to look from Olwind to her, Neville asked, “And what about you? Were you in one of the carriages when it happened?”

“No, I saw it.”

He actually shuddered. Through the table she felt a tremble, and his shoulders did that shake people do when a ghost walks up their back.

“Sorry. It’s, uh, a bit chilly.”

_Clang!_

_Clang!_

_Clang!_

They both jumped as the blacksmith and his apprentice started hammering away again at her father’s sword.

And from within herself, Elyn felt an upswell of energy. She closed her eyes. For one fleeting moment she envisioned that godsforsaken blacksmith and his apprentices consumed by the fire they fed. She tried to shove the feeling back down like she had a thousand times before. She pushed the horrid vision from her mind.

This time it did not work.

 

 **.** **.** **.**

 

 _Neville_ could not help but feel for Elyn as she told her story. He had been in the small village of Sharmest near the border of the elven kingdoms and the tuvlands for three days. A human noble family coming through was easily the most interesting thing to happen since then. So when he saw a young woman and an obvious guard and the telltale kraken in a sea of blood, his curiosity got the best of him.

He had heard of their troubles from the other patrons. It was the reason the blacksmith and his apprentice were working through the night, to fix Count Henry Settaque’s sword before the family went on their way.

Neville did not expect Elyn’s insights into her guard’s troubled mental state and her father’s facade of normalcy to hide how distraught he really was. Her confession that she had actually seen it made him realize that she was not only talking talking about their traumas that day but also about her own, at least in part.

The sudden slam of the blacksmith’s anvil startled them both, but she reacted much more viscerally than he did. He felt the arcane energy being drawn together around her like loose strands of thread suddenly clinging together from static. Magical power drew to her like a magnet. He saw her close her eyes and try to focus it, and fail, and then her eyes shot open as the shockwave hit the tavern.

“Was that. . . wild magic?”

Her mouth curled and tears started streaming down her face. Then she was up and running for the door. He was dumbfounded but he grabbed his staff from where it leaned against the table and followed.

 

 **.** **.** **.**

 

 _Schava_ sat in a booth along the wall of the inn, keeping a careful but unobtrusive watch on the bar. It was rare that Joan let her inside the inn anymore. She had been kicked out for numerous reasons over the years, and it happened enough that she was not openly welcome.

But that’s what friends are for. Did Fineli have to know he had been a way to get into the inn where the nobles were staying? That was not relevant information. Not in her eyes.

Once Schava was in, she waited. Patience is key when the mark was as big as hers. She knew Joan would get busy and stop paying her any mind as the night wore on.

She was just pulling away from Fineli and about to make her way upstairs when, lo and behold, one of the nobles came down to her. It was the older daughter, and she had a guard, but most importantly she had a coinpurse. Hmmm.

Quickly abandoning the plan of trying to get past Joan and up the stairs, Schava instead relocated herself and her dupe/date to the table next to the daughter. The coinpurse was right there in sight, but patience. It’s always about waiting for the best time, when there is the least chance of getting caught.

The daughter and her guard did not seem to be getting along very well. He chewed out Rezet when she brought their drinks before shooing her away. That was interesting, and potentially useful.

Then the tight-breaches mage that had arrived in town a few days earlier made an approach. Schava did not catch how, but he pissed off the guard, who drained his drink and made for the bar while the mage sat down.

Schava glanced at the guard. He was not looking. She glanced at Joan and Rezet. They were preoccupied with patrons, the guard wouldn't get his drink for at least a little longer. It was time. Fineli was chattering away about something next to her. She laughed a little louder than necessary and pushed Fineli, or rather she pushed herself off of him and towards the daughter. Her chair tipped back. She caught herself on the daughter’s chair. One swift tug with a knife on the cord that held the coinpurse and she had it. The girl probably did not feel a thing.

“Oh no,” she said. “I think I’m a bit drunk. Perhaps I should be getting to bed.” She put a few marks down so Rezet did not chase them down the street and got to her feet, careful to act just drunk enough.

Her heart raced as she and a slightly confused Fineli made it over the threshold. The night breeze felt like freedom on her face after the heat of the inn and the tension of the heist. Schava smiled, a real smile this time.

A few steps down the street, Fineli encircled her in his arms. It was. . . not unpleasant. She turned to look at him, so much closer now, the rush of adrenaline from her heist still raging. It was clear what he wanted. And he was not bad looking. And, it would certainly not hurt to have an alibi for the entire night.

Schava’s grin turned wicked and she pulled away, guiding him by the hand. She knew the perfect place to stay out sight for a-

_Clang!_

_Clang!_

_Clang!_

The two had not gone far, only crossing the dirt street as Schava led them towards the forest. The ringing of metal was head splitting just outside Garrett’s workshop. Schava let go of Fineli's hand to cover her ears, cursing the blacksmith and his son and Rohgrin all in one breath.

Then everything was spinning.

**BOOM!**

The world flew end over end before crashing into her. She felt her left arm break underneath her as she landed. The weight of a heavy coinpurse beneath her tunic was painful as it was squashed between her ribs and the ground.

Schava opened her eyes a moment later to see the flicker of shadows cast by a fire on the front wall of the cobbler’s shop. Behind she heard voices, and shouting, and the dull roar of flame.

Her only thought was of the sorts of punishments human nobles are said to favor. They would find her. They would whip her and take her prize away and either hang her or send her to a colosseum. There would be no more second chances after stealing from nobility.

Schava stood, propping herself up on her right arm because her left dangled uselessly at her side. She stepped over the scorched, lifeless body of Fineli, and she ran.

 

 **.** **.** **.**

 

 _Rohgrin_ would never forget that night. After disassembling the Count’s sword so the blade could be reworked, he witnessed things with steel he did not know were possible. It took Garrett twenty minutes to figure out how best to match the metal of the sword, then he layered three square metal plates on either side of the broken blade. He sprinkled salt on them, wrapped them all in parchment, wet the parchment, covered this in hay, and encased that entire ensemble in mud. That went into the furnace with the hottest burning fuel they had for three hours.

Merodach worked the bellows for the first half, then was sent off to rest. Late into the night Rohgrin pumped to keep the furnace hot.

Out of the coals came an ugly thing, but after it was broken off they found the metal malleable enough to be worked.

Garrett spent about five minutes hammering, then they fired it again. Then hammering, then back in the furnace. The third time Rohgrin pulled the broken blade from the coals and placed it on the anvil the smith said, “Boy, get me the second-gauge hammer. Time for the finer touches.”

Rohgrin moved to the other side of the room as the first hammer blow fell.

He leaned down and opened the drawer for the less used tools as the second hammer blow fell. A counter made of stone and wood stood between him and the furnace.

Garrett always kept his tools organized. Rohgrin had the second-gauge hammer in hand and was about to get up when the third hammer blow fell.

Then the furnace exploded.

The finest quality charcoal would not have any impurities. It should not pop, it should not even spark. It exploded. He wondered, in that moment as his hair was incinerated, what he could possibly have done so wrong that the furnace would explode.

Rohgrin felt heat, more intense than the bellows on a summer day, and pulled himself up. The air hurt his lungs and he felt his throat and eyes instantly dry. The air was hazy with smoke, but he could still see across to where the front wall used to be.

A well-muscled body sat against the wall across from the furnace. It was charred beyond recognition, but it had to be Garrett. He was not moving.

In that moment Rohgrin knew that what little he had built here in Sharmest was gone in an instant. Garrett's son Merodach was not a cruel man, but in the two years they had apprenticed together he knew the elf was not forgiving either. Rohgrin would end up in a cell for the remainder of his life like his parents if he stayed.

He needed to run.

Northeast was the best option. Towards the dwarven kingdoms and the disputed tuvlands, where the elven authorities and the ghosts of Sharmest might not be able to haunt him. He staggered towards the door, the burned skin on his neck and head pulling taught with every movement.

But the roads were dangerous. Rohgrin stopped. Traveling alone he would be killed, like the Count and his family almost had been. The fire was spreading rapidly. If he did not get out of the workshop soon he would be killed here too. It took him only a moment to decide, and he turned around.

At the back of the workshop was a door with a heavy chain and a lock on it. Rohgrin noticed he still had the hammer Garrett had asked for in his hand. He struck where the first link met the lock. And again. And again.

It took about ten strikes before the two segments of chain fell to the ground. Rohgrin swung open the door, the heat abating immediately as he stepped out of the flaming workshop and into the armory, where Garrett had kept his stock.

He took a plain sword and scabbard out of a rack of identical swords, a shield with a crude axe painted on it off the wall, and a handaxe from a pile of tools that needed to be sharpened. He did not take anything particularly valuable and went specifically for utility. He buckled the sword on over the leather tunic he was still wearing, hung the handaxe and the second-gauge hammer from loops on his belt, and hefted the shield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The map, crated by the talented Joseph Shoer, really took a hit to the resolution in the process of embedding it. For a better look go here: https://imgur.com/D4qBn1B


	2. Camaraderie of Sin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You’re going to have to get better at lying."

_Elyn_ and Neville were the first to arrive. A body lay at the base of the wall across the road from the workshop, broken and unmoving. They noticed a shape running towards the forest just as it broke line of sight, but the two continued closer until they could see inside the workshop.

The large double doors had been blasted away, along with a sizeable portion of the walls that held them. Splinters and iron frames lay in the road, lit by the firelight. Through the opening, a blackened body sat against the right wall farthest from the furnace, also unmoving. A door at the back was open. The left side of the room with the furnace was completely engulfed in flames.

In that moment of dread, Elyn realized that two innocent people were dead. Her secret was out and she had killed two people.

She felt her legs going weak at the thought.  _I'm a murderer._ Elyn knelt down in the road in front of the ruined workshop and cried.

Beside her Neville said, “My lady, we need to get you back to - well, at least get away from the fire. Come on.” A gentle pull on her shoulder. She did not respond.

Over the fire they heard the first trickle of the crowd arriving. Some people were shouting, organizing to put out the flames. One Elven man made as if he was going to enter the workshop, then felt the heat and thought better of it. An Elven woman raised her hands, a wooden staff with a shock of leaves at its top in her hand. The leaves glowed blue and rain started to fall on the building.

Looking up, Elyn saw the gathering people. At the front was Olwind, sword in hand, looking at the fire, then back down at her crying in the road, then back to the fire, then to the body across the road. He sheathed his weapon, but she could see the wheels turning in his head.

Through the door at the back of the workshop emerged a man. He was completely bald, and the side of his neck gleamed red with fresh burns. He wore a workman’s leather apron, a sword at his hip, and he carried a shield. He must be a survivor coming out to defend his home from whatever had attacked. Defend it from _her_.

With that horror in mind, Elyn fled.

 

 **.** **.** **.**

 

 _Olwind_ , for the briefest of moments, considered just letting Elyn go. He knew that Count Henry’s eldest daughter was some sort of witch, but he had long suspicions that she was more dangerous than she seemed. The strange happenings, the unexplainable ailments. Here was the proof.

But the Count would still need to understand this for himself, and even if he could be brought to reason Olwind would still be very much at his mercy. Doing his duty and keeping the witch safe was the only way he might find any of that mercy.

The mage from the tavern called out, “My lady! Wait!”

Olwind was already after her.

 

 **.** **.** **.**

 

 _Neville_ felt a shove as Elyn’s guard pushed past him. He had seen the look of horror the young noble gave the guard, and watched as the man seemed to piece together what had happened before giving chase. There was nothing else to do, Neville would have to follow. He knelt down and took a handful of dirt, then drew arcane energy up from within himself, traced a glyph in the air in front of his chest as the dirt trickled from his fist, and said, “Almashibrre!”

His head rushed as he channeled the arcane energy, and it left him unsteady for a moment. He caught himself with his staff. Then the spell took hold and his feet felt lighter, quicker. He took off, passing the armored guard quickly with magic compelling his every step. He could hear the human’s breaths, at first even, then slowly growing labored, then fading away behind him.

Suddenly Elyn took a sharp turn off the road ahead of him. He followed into the forest, managing to keep her in sight as she sprinted around trees and lept over fallen logs. If Neville had not seen her with his own eyes, he would guess that she was a wood elf.

For several long minutes they ran. When he caught up with her he said, “Elyn, we need to stop. It’s going to be alright.”

She looked back briefly, her eyes widening. Either she had not heard his footsteps behind her, or she was surprised that he was not Olwind, either way she seemed to redouble her efforts.

“Elyn, I’m not going to hurt you! Just calm down.”

His words had no effect, but eventually the limits of her stamina brought Elyn to reality. Another ten minutes of running and she burst into a clearing. At the center was a large tree, its branches reaching out around it in a wide fan. She slowed as she made her way towards the trunk and collapsed at its base, wheezing.

 

 **.** **.** **.**

 

 _Rohgrin_ panicked. The crowd outside the shop saw him leave the burning ruins. He could tell his hair was now gone, but that would only delay his arrest for so long. For an hour or so he trudged along the road North, out of Sharmest.

He realized anyone trying to find him would catch him if he stayed on the road, so he turned into the woods. It immediately brought him to almost a standstill. He managed to not trip and impale himself on the handaxe at his hip, and he managed to not get lost, but as he stumbled through the woods and tried to keep from getting turned around he did not cover much ground at all.

He eventually heard a noise and stopped to listen. Someone was nearby. It had come from off to his left, towards the road. Had he strayed closer to it?

From a thicket emerged a familiar human man. He was armed and armored, a kraken on a red field adorned his breastplate, and he drew a sword immediately.

“Who are you? A brigand?” the man asked.

“No.”

The man took a threatening step forward. He knew his way around a blade, and Rohgrin got the feeling he was no match for the soldier. He thought quickly, and could not come up with anything but the truth.

“I’m the blacksmith’s apprentice! You saw the fire? If they caught me after that, they’re sure to hang me, so I. . . I ran.”

The soldier stopped his advance.

“Have you seen anyone else since the fire? A woman, human, seventeen years old. Brown skin, black hair?”

“No, you’re the first person I’ve come across.”

“Well fuck.” He was about to elaborate when they heard a scream of pain in the distance to the east. The soldier bolted, and Rohgrin never was quite sure what compelled him to follow.

 

 **.** **.** **.**

 

 _Schava_ heard pursuit behind her. She was only another mile from safety, but she knew she could not outrun anything in her state. A little too much wine at dinner, a little too much blood loss from her arm. Instead she veered right towards a familiar tree. With a strip torn off her blouse to keep her arm from bleeding too much she tried not to leave a trail of crimson for anyone to follow.

She made her way to the old ash. Some chance of nature or magic had produced it, larger than its brethren by thirty feet and a tangled mess of roots at the bottom, she knew of a nook in the roots where she could hide. She slid herself into the hollow and kept quiet despite the pain in her arm.

After a few minutes, she heard fast footsteps, then nothing. Then. . . crying?

“My lady, may I approach?”

The mage from the inn? What the fuck?

“I know you probably do not want to talk right now, but you seem confused, and I think I can help with some of it.”

The crying softened slightly. And he’d said ‘My Lady.’ It must be the daughter. Double fuck. The caper had been so clean, how did it fall apart so badly? First she was blown up and now her mark showed up out of nowhere.

“Do you understand what you did back there? The magic? I suspect you do not understand _how_ you did it.”

Through hard sobs Schava heard, “It’s because I’m a witch.”

There was a hiss then. Not quite an angry one, but a sharp intake of breath that sounded vaguely discouraging.

“You are not a witch. But you _are_ a wildmage.” The was a pause. “Do you know what that means?”

“That I’m cursed. That sometimes things move on their own around me, or people turn blue! That happened when I was eleven! Or things blow up and people die!”

“I. . . am sure those things happen sometimes, yes. But the reason why, is because you are a living conduit of magic. You are a sorceress. It seems like you do not want this to be true, but it is, and you will only hurt yourself and those around you more if you do not learn to control it.”

“I try! I try all the time. When that burning starts in my chest and my eyes get blurry and my head hurts, I control it.”

“This is not something you can contain. You have to vent it. You have to release some of the pressure, or it will keep building up. Have you ever done magic intentionally? Is there a little trick you know that you do sometimes?”

“No.”

“No. Not something like this? Ig!” Schava heard the sound of a flame coming into existence. Then the breaking of a branch. “Kryck! Or this?”

“Stay away!”

The fear in the daughter's voice made Schava jump. She shifted towards the opening between the roots and poked her head out.

“It is alright! Elyn, magic is not going to hurt you if you learn how to control it properly.”

“I killed two people!”

Schava saw that the mage was about ten feet from the daughter, who in turn was sitting against the trunk of the tree with her knees pulled up to her chest.

“That is not. . . . Yes. That happened, and it is regrettable, but it was also an accident. All you can do is learn to control your powers so that nothing like that happens again.”

Before she could stop herself, Schava yelled, “You did this!”

The daughter screamed and the mage swung around, his staff raised aggressively.

The moment of anger faded quickly, but in its place was a hard nugget of resolve. And either way, she was committed now. “I’m coming up. Try not to kill me before you see me.” She used her good arm to pull herself out of the nook between the roots, the squeeze pulling on her shoulder and making her arm throb with pain.

As she stood, clutching her left arm with her right, she said, “You caused the explosion.”

The human sorceress sitting at the base of the old ash tree Schava had played under since she was a girl was at a loss for words. Her mouth opened and closed in a wordless attempt at an apology. It broke her heart. She had not quite followed everything the mage had said, but that it had been an accident was not in question.

“That means people are going to be looking for you. They’ll find you here. I can get you to safety.”

“Wait, what?” the mage said. “Forget the why for a moment, what do you mean safety?”

“There are some. . . people, in these woods. I know them. They don’t get along too well with constables or nobles, but they’ll take anyone in, for a price. I can lead you to them.”

“I can pay,” the daughter said quickly.

 _No you can’t,_ Schava thought. _But I might be able to._

“This way.”

“Now wait just a godsforsaken second. Firstly, you are wounded. That is clearly priority. Secondly,” he added, turning back to the human, “My Lady, you cannot just run away from what you did in town. We need to go back. Your father will smooth things out I’m sure, and some of the damage can - ”

The daughter interrupted him. “My father will disown me for what happened. He made it clear that if - “ The human seemed unable to finish, but she started again. “This is the only option. Madam elf, what is your name?”

“Schava. You two?”

The mage spoke first. “I am Neville Alun.”

“Elyn, of. . . of Dunmoore.”

“You’re going to have to get better at lying, Elyn. Come, we’ll see to my arm when we’re safe in the glade.”

They managed to follow somewhat quietly for a mile further, the mage occasionally raising concerns that the girl somehow mollified. Schava was too focused on finding the hidden camp and not screaming in pain to pay much attention.

The three of them found a stream. It was visible to the right, and they could hear it to the left, but in front of them the trees of the forest grew thick, so close it looked almost impossible to pass. Schava motioned to stop.

“I do not like this,” she heard Neville say under his breath.

“Just follow my lead,” she replied, looking up into the branches of the trees. “Pish? Renil? You there?”

A beat of quiet forest night passed.

“Hello Schava,” a voice called from the cluster of trees. “What brings you back to these parts of the woods?”

“Ah. Erom. How nice it is to hear that sweet voice again.”

“Pish is dead, unfortunately. Died yesterday, trying to fleece some noble. Renil too.”

“Fuck. That’s what I was hoping didn’t happen. I’ve got two friends with me. We’re heading north for a few days and we need a place to sleep tonight. I fell on the way here, too, and I think I broke my arm. There’s five gold in it for you.”

“Yeah. Fell in the woods. Sure you did. You pay up and you can stay.”

Schava lead them around the dense cluster of trees. They lost sight of the stream, then came to where it emerged again through a tangle of roots on the other side. She started feeling along the bark carefully, then after a few feet her hand sunk through one of the trees. She smiled.

“This might be a little strange,” she said, and walked through the tree.

Neville followed immediately, looking unimpressed. Mages.

Elyn emerged a few moments later, that wide-eyed look on her face that Schava remembered having when she first found the glade.

“Wow, you really weren’t playing up the broken arm, Schava. Thought you were just trying to work my sympathy.” The wood elf scoundrel she knew as Erom stood on a platform in the branches of a tree above the entrance, clad in leathers with a sword on his hip and an arrowhead worked into a lock of his hair.

“As if you have sympathy. Is Bornael here?”

“Nope, he died too.”

“Did you already plunder his bunk?”

“Most of it, but there should be some bandages left. We drank that booze that tastes like a mage tampered with it. Send them off proper, you know? But that shit leaves one fel of a headache.”

“That’s because it’s for pouring on wounds, you idiot.”

As she looked around she noticed two more figures that stood on similar stands around the perimeter of the thirty foot clearing between the natural palisade of trees, unidentifiable as they were shrouded in leaves and shadows even from the inside. The clearing of the glade was not exactly clear, where there was not a hut built along the inside of the ring there was long disused debris. The occasional rusted sword here, a small cart that listed on one wheel there.

Schava started unwrapping her arm as she made her way to what had been Bornael’s dwelling.

Behind her she heard a light _thud_. “Slow down a bit. You haven’t paid yet, and your friends still need to pass the loyalty test.”

She did not slow or change course. “Erom, my fucking arm is broken. We’ll settle that when I can punch you again.”

 

 **.** **.** **.**

 

 _Elyn_ watched as Schava ducked through a door into one of the huts.

“Seems like it is an opportune time to settle it when she _can’t_ punch me. Now, you two. Names and crimes.”

“I am Neville Alun, and I have not committed any crimes.”

The self-righteousness dripping from every syllable made Elyn immediately cringe, but it was the predatory look that the elf gave them as he blocked their way into the camp that scared her.

“That’s not going to work very well, highborn. I’ll try and use big words so you can follow along. You see, we operate under a exceedingly simple system: A camaraderie of sin. Every one of us incapable of going to the constables, because we are wanted ourselves. That mutual brand of delinquency is what bonds us. If you’re not with us, then, well. . .” he trailed off, drawing his sword an inch from the scabbard so the blade shone.

“Two murders,” Elyn said. “Arson. Breaking Schava’s arm. Also standards,” she snipped, looking at the dwellings made of rough-cut branches and leaves. “It seems having them is a crime around here. He’s my accessory to all of it. Is that enough?”

The edge in his voice did not soften. “It seems you’ve been quite busy, but what is a human doing starting fires here in Sharmest? Doesn’t seem to add up to me.”

“I did it because they deserved to burn.”

Elyn felt a welling up of vomit from her stomach as she said it, but years of staring down her father left her quite capable of keeping an impartial face to this lowly outlaw. Erom's eyes flicked from meeting her eyes, where she could feel her makeup running down her face, to her chest, because he was a pig, to her cuffs and riding boots, which were appropriately grimy from running through the woods.

“Well aren’t you interesting? I’ve started a few fires myself. As methods of killing goes, it’s quite unreliable. However, there is one more thing.” He produced a gold coin from somewhere in his shirt. “This was stolen from the Dragon Treasury. It is cursed so that anyone who holds it is marked a thief to any divination magic. No constable will ever make a deal with you then.” He held it out. “Take it.”

Elyn looked down at the coin, weighing her options. If she took it, she would be essentially branded a criminal for the rest of her life. But she had already thrown away her old life, and she needed a place to stay. On top of that, by the way Erom was looking at them she got the feeling she would not make it out of the clearing alive if she tried to run now.

But. . . as she looked down at the coin, she saw an elven face in relief etched onto the coin. It was the currency of the elven kingdoms. The Dragon Treasury was thousands of miles away, nigh impossible to steal from, and it did not deal in any other coins but their own.

Erom was lying.

She reached out and picked up the coin.

“I have heard that it takes time to become familiar with a magical item. Shall I hold onto this, make sure the curse rubs off on me?”

He frowned. “No. One touch will do. Now you, mage.”

Turning to him, Elyn saw that Neville was looking at her with shock. She held the coin out. After a moment he said, “No.”

“Neville, if you don’t they are going to kill us. It does not make sense to die now, especially when,” she made a show of looking around, “I’m pretty sure you’re the only one here who can fix Schava’s arm.”

She kept her hand out. He stood there, staff in hand, unmoving.

After a moment of tension he took the coin.

“Welcome to the family!” Erom said with mock joy. “Make yourselves at home. I’ll take that coin back, along with the five more you owe me.”

Elyn reached for her hip. . . and came up empty. She looked down. Her coinpurse was not there. Her heart dropped through her stomach. In the long minutes spent running, from Olwind, from her father, from what she had done in the elven village of Sharmest, she had reconciled herself with not seeing her brothers and sister again. She did not have much particular attachment to home as they were hardly ever there, and she certainly had no trouble with never getting into one of those damn carriages again.

But for the first time since all of the craziness had transpired, she felt like she had truly lost something. She had the vague notion that she would have to spend wisely from now on, be frugal, but she had more money in her coinpurse than most people saw in a year.

That money was gone.

In the moment that it took Elyn to process this, Neville handed the ‘cursed’ coin back and dug into a purse at his side for more.

“There,” she heard him say, as if from a distance. “That should be enough to show you we mean business, now if you will excuse me, your brigandry is keeping someone in pain.”

 

 **.** **.** **.**

 

 _Neville_ stepped by Erom to the hut that Schava had entered.

“You’ll be staying here for exactly one night,” the scoundrel said as he passed. “If it turns out that you don’t have the rest of the coin by then, well, I’m sure you’ll find a way to settle your debt.”

Looking back, Elyn still stood where she had been, one hand at her belt as if she was reaching for something and a blank look on her face. Erom was poised like a panther.

“Elyn. Let’s get inside, shall we?”

That seemed to break her reverie. She shook her head a bit and approached the door.

Inside the hut, Schava was sitting on a cot, already at work cleaning the blood off her arm. Her sleeve was torn off at the bicep. A shelf at the foot of the cot had what looked like relatively clean bandages, but seeing her arm partially extended for the first time he could see the fracture. It did not look good.

“Stop, stop. Let me do that. Lay down so the arm is towards me,” he said, reaching for his pack and leaning his staff against the wall. She seemed about to protest until he pulled out a tear shaped, stoppered glass vial of red liquid.

“Oh thank the gods, and Norn first.”

She did as he asked, but her eyes never left the vial, and she reached for it with her good hand.

Instead of giving it to her, Neville opened a solution of alcohol he had fermented and refined himself. He wished he had poppy extract to ease her pain. Setting her bones was going to be horrible without it. But there was nothing to do about it so he started cleaning all of the scrapes and open wounds she had accrued in the explosion and the trek through the forest.

Schava hissed in pain and protest. “Why are you doing that?” she asked, impatient. “Just give me the potion.”

“That is not how this works. If you drink this now, all your wounds will close. Your arm will be bent that way for the rest of your life, and any dirt in these scrapes will be sealed under you skin. Then I will have to break your arm again to set it correctly, and even that would be pointless when you die of infection. And you will have wasted my only healing potion. So lie back and close your eyes. The potion will make it all better. I promise that you can have it as soon as I am done.”

She gave a longing look at the red vial in his hand, then said, “Alright. Get it over with.”

Looking closer, he could see the bulge where the fracture was, but the bone had not pierced through the skin of her forearm. There was only blood from the scrape where her arm had impacted the ground. Her wrist angled backwards where it should not, but that was because the bone was out of place. She had to have quite the grit to have made it this far. It was an exceptionally painful wound.

As he worked Neville muttered to himself. At first it was tittering about Schava’s wounds, but that did not last long.

“I cannot believe I let that brute of a man coerce me into touching that coin. I’ll have to make my way towards Thoorp, I’m sure the Dragon Treasury has the means of lifting this curse.”

He heard a hollow laugh from Elyn on the other side of the room.

Without looking up he said, “You seemed awfully willing to have yourself branded as a thief.”

“I did it because it was a load of dragon shit. You almost got us killed for nothing.”

“There are definitely divination spells and curses like what - ”

“I’m not talking about the magic. I know fuck all about magic. I mean those coins were elven. The dragon treasury only records its accounts in weight and re-mints all the coins that pass through it. That’s part of the conditions one has to accept to make a deposit. Anyone who’s actually been there would know that. The Dragon Treasury is two thousand miles away and guarded by Dragons. He was lying. He said it so you would be less willing to give him up to the constabulary.”

“No, he - ” Schava started, then stopped. Her jaw worked for a moment as she thought.

It only took a few minutes for Neville to clean her scrapes. Schava hissed through her clenched teeth as he did. Then, looking at the other medical accoutrements on the shelf, he was glad to see that among them was a leather bit. He picked it up and focused for a moment. “Quazifitation.” It was instantly, magically cleaned. He wished living bodies were as easy as that, but even magic has its limits. Another moment of concentration and he muttered, “Abul.” He meant to flavor it like wine, a quick sniff told him it would be more like raspberries. Close enough.

He handed the bit to Schava. “Bite this.”

She opened her eyes, frowned, and put the bit between her teeth with her good hand.

“Elyn? Can you help me, please?” The young noble approached, looking unsure. “Hold her arm down,” he said, directing one hand to Schava’s bicep and the other to her forearm, just below her elbow and above the break. “Do not let her arm move. That is your task no matter what happens. Understand?”

She nodded.

After a moment of hesitation, he gripped Schava’s forearm and her palm and pulled. Schava bit down hard and her yell was muffled. It took about three seconds of traction before he felt the two segments of bone catch. Once her arm was the right length again he pushed her wrist inward and pulled her elbow towards him.

That is when she screamed, a high pitched, blood-curdling scream of pain that blasted out from around the bit in her mouth. The bones scraped along the fracture but he got them aligned where they should be. He felt all Schava’s muscles tense as she writhed on the bed, but Elyn’s grip kept her from dislocating the bones again. Still holding her wrist in place with his right hand, he unstoppered the potion with his left.

“I know! I know, it hurts, just drink this! Schava! Look at me, drink this!”

It took him a moment to break through the pain and get her attention, but as soon as he had it he took the bit out of her mouth and put the vial to her lips. She drank greedily, choking once but not slowing down.

It took a matter of seconds for the potion to take effect. Schava sputtered a bit after the vial was empty, but the healing was already under way. The cuts and scrapes covering her body healed over, leaving tiny silvery scars. Her muscles relaxed as the pain subsided, and she opened her eyes.

“Tastes like blood and sand and how an old shoe smells.”

“You do not want to know what is in it, then. How does the wrist feel?”

“Fine, actually.”

“Be careful! Start with wiggling your fingers. Good. Now make a fist. Bend your wrist a little. Open up your palm and roll your wrist, like this,” he said, demonstrating. “Go very slowly.”

Elation spread across her face as she tested her hand again. It seemed she was healed.

From outside they heard a familiar voice shout, “Elyn! Where are you?”


	3. Bloody Glade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He sneered at her. That's a hard thing to do, to sneer up at someone who has a knife in your face. As a reward for his bravery she only kicked him twice.

_Erom_ sat in the stand above the glade’s entrance, keeping watch and wondering.

He had no idea where Schava had found the prissy high elf in these parts, and that human woman had something about her that grated on him. She was used to respect. Probably a merchant’s daughter, or a cleric’s.

But there was definitely something more going on. Schava was probably on the run again- no, she was definitely on the run again. No one makes the trek out here with a broken arm unless they have no other choice. And she had come into some money. Erom knew she would not go back on her deal, she knew the price for that.

Or maybe she actually did not have the money. She was desperate after all, maybe in her pain she felt that safety now was worth the price to come. He smiled at the thought.

A loud blast of a scream erupted from the hut Schava was in. Erom flexed his hands, a chill running down his spine. But as his body responded viscerally, his mind was at work. She would probably be staying for longer than a night with a wound that bad. He might have to raise the rent price to ten gold for their second night.

Then he heard a noise from outside the glade and was instantly alert.

“Elyn! Where are you?”

He glanced over at Terin and Phillaness, gesturing to stay alert. The sound came from the direction of Sharmest just like Schava and her group had. They heard a crashing as someone trampled the underbrush towards them. They were definitely not an elf.

Erom jumped down, making his way to the hut the newcomers occupied. He drew a sword and a dagger and marched into the hut to find Schava sitting on the cot, the mage kneeling in front of her, and the human backing away. They all looked at him.

Barely above a whisper so it would not carry he said, “No one makes a sound. Am I clear?” He looked from one to the next individually and raised his weapons, not taking a fighting stance but instead pointing one each at the two newcomers. “Nod.”

They all nodded.

“Which one of you led them here?”

The briefest of glances from the mage was enough to know it was the human woman, but then she raised her hand in confession. How honest.

He came closer.

“Who are they, and what do they want with you?”

“It’s my guard. He’ll try to take me back to my father.”

Human girl. Her posture and tone always demanding respect. He felt stupid for not seeing it before. She must be a daughter of the lord from the day before. Erom had only just managed to escape, and Pish, Renil, and Bornael had not.

“How much are you worth to him?”

He was not expecting her to smile. He was less prepared for her to stifle a laugh.

“Unfortunately for you, he just disowned me, so not one copper. Sorry.”

“You’re lying.”

“I didn’t hear him say it with my own ears, but I can assure you that he will disown me if he ever sees me again. That’s why I ran.”

From outside, the girl’s guard called her name again.

“Then why is that one looking for you.”

“Well, while he was supposed to be watching me I burned down a building, killed at least two people, and ran away. Honestly, my father might hang him for that. Bringing me back would at the very least offer a shield from my father’s wrath.”

“So you’re worth his life to him.”

She scoffed. “Yes, and he’s got about twenty silver on him. A trifle. I can easily buy my life from you for more than that.” She narrowed her eyes. “The fact that I don’t want to go with him and am not calling out for him to rescue me now should be enough to convince you.”

He gave her a long look.

“I think you are too skilled with that silver tongue for your own good. But you’ve bought yourself a chance. When they leave we’ll settle this.”

Erom left, immediately looking up at the others on watch. He raised a finger and circled it, silently asking, _Which direction?_

Phillaness pointed west, then raised two fingers, then put them to her eyes. _Two. I see them._

Erom took a running start and leapt to his stand above the entrance. The two figures were twenty feet from the wall of the glade and slowly approaching. One had a shield but was otherwise dressed in a leather tunic, the other wore armor. He picked up the crossbow and nocked a bolt from the quiver that lay ready, aimed, and fired. Phillaness's arrow followed his bolt within moments. The next did not arrive, Terin must not have a line of sight from his perch. The one arrow stuck solidly into the dirt five feet from their targets, and his bolt glanced off the taller one’s shield with a scraping _shhhhing_!

The armored one charged towards the glade. Erom's crossbow had a crank draw system so he put the tip to the ground and started cranking. By the time he could fire again the short one was at the base of the trees below, out of his line of fire. The other man took longer to respond, clearly a greenhorn, but he put his shield up and ran to take shelter behind a tree about twenty feet off.

“Well fuck.” Those opening shots should have killed at least one of them.

Erom threw the quiver over his shoulder and jumped down again, careful not to jostle the loaded crossbow too much. Poking his head through the illusory tree at the entrance he saw that the armored man was pressed against the glade’s living barricade ten feet away. Again he aimed and fired. His bolt hit layers of armor covering the enemy’s right shoulder and pierced it like a nail through rotten wood. The man yelled and looked over.

Not taking his chances, Erom put some space between the entrance and himself and started reloading. The man charged through the illusory tree just as the crossbow _clicked_.

He heard a shout to his left, something unintelligible. Suddenly he was surrounded with a blast of black gas. His eyes immediately began to water, and before he could stop himself he gasped. His throat instantly seared and he could feel his airways closing up from the cloud he was in.

Erom managed to turn as the poison dissipated and see the high elf mage with his hand extended, a tendril of black smoke falling from his palm. Then his eyes swelled shut. It would take him another few minutes to die, his body shutting down bit by bit from lack of air, but that high elf mage was the last thing he ever saw.

 

 **.** **.** **.**

 

 _Elyn_ heard the _twang_ s and running feet of a fight starting outside. Memories of the ambush came rushing back like a wave.

Schava and Neville jumped to their feet. The mage was closer to the door and grabbed his staff as he ran out. At some point Schava had drawn a dagger from somewhere and she followed. Elyn moved close enough to look outside but did not leave the protection of the doorway.

Erom was standing in the middle of the clearing, his foot on a crossbow as he hastily reloaded it. Then Olwind emerged from the fake tree, a crossbow bolt sticking out of his shoulder.

Neville raised his hand and shouted, “Vyzwal!” An inky cloud of gas erupted from his palm and surrounded Erom. The brigand gasped and choked. He turned to them and Elyn could see the skin on his face and neck swell red. Then he collapsed.

Only now that they were moving could she see two more figures above them. Schava flicked her wrist and something flew through the branches towards one of them. An arrow zipped through the air and hit Olwind, then another came from the one Schava had thrown at. Elyn saw a blur as it went past the elven woman’s leg and stuck into the dirt, then a flap of her leather clothing fell away from her calf and blood welled out.

In all this chaos, the feeling of pressure building in her chest returned. She remembered what Neville had said, that keeping her magic within was dangerous because it would always come out one way or another. Without a better idea, she raised her hand at the figure that had shot Schava and yelled, “Vyzwal!”

Her arm tingled as sparks erupted from her palm. It was not really fire, it looked more like tiny blue filaments of lightning that arced a few inches from her hand into the air. Then her hand disappeared, as well as Schava and Neville and everyone else in the clearing. All vanished in an instant. She heard a thud from her left, near the entrance, and Olwind was gone too.

An eerie calm settled over the clearing for a moment. Elyn could feel her hands but when she raised them in front of herself they were not there. The only thing left in the clearing was a cloud of quickly dispersing smog surrounding the spot where Erom had been standing and that damp smell you find after a thunderstorm.

It took her a moment to think of it. To test if she was still really there at all, Elyn put her fingers to her cheek. Reassurance filled her as she discovered her continued existence.

Then the silence broke.

 

 **.** **.** **.**

 

 _Rohgrin_ had the most disconcerting experience of his young life when he stepped through the illusory tree of the hidden glade.

He had seen two people meld through it. He had definitely heard the clear sounds of a fight on the other side, the _twang_ of bows and crossbows, grunts and shouts and quick moving feet. Then he stepped through a tree that did not really exist and everything stopped.

The ring of presumably real trees had crude wooden huts along the inside surrounding a clearing. The ground was partially green grass, partially packed dirt in clear tracks. A faint hint of dark smoke lay an inch or so thick across the center of the clearing and was rapidly dispersing.

Rohgrin stepped forward and immediately tripped over something. As he fell forward and instinctively put his hands out to break his fall he realized that he could not see his hands, or the shield strapped to his arm, or the rest of him.

The crash of metal on metal broke the tension. He just managed to roll to the side and instinctively raise his shield as two arrows flew from the branches above. He felt a _thud thud_ as they impacted his shield, and had the surreal experience of watching two streaks of color stop in mid air in front of his face. They stuck to the invisible shield and two figures stood shrouded in the leaves where before they had not been.

To his right a man appeared out of nowhere as he whispered something under his breath and what looked like a handful of dust burst from the staff he held towards the figures above. One slumped over in the tree, the other dropped out of the tree and hit the ground with a wet smack. That one groaned and started to get back up.

There was the pattering of feet, and this time a familiar wood elf suddenly appeared above the fallen person. With a quick motion and a spray of crimson Schava slit the downed woman's throat. What the fel was she doing here?

Behind Rohgrin he heard a gurgle. Whatever he had tripped over hit him in the back of the head, hard. It startled him so he turned and swung and subsequently popped back into existence himself. He found the soldier that he had met in the woods lying on his side, arm outstretched. Rohgrin’s fist fell before it connected.

The soldier had a crossbow bolt protruding up from his shoulder through his armor and the fletching of an arrow brushing his cheek. The shaft ran along his neck and disappeared down into his breastplate, the emblem of a kraken stained with blood.

Lying three feet from him, Rohgrin looked into his eyes. Stillness descended on the clearing once more as the man stopped breathing.

 

 **.** **.** **.**

 

 _Schava_ watched as Rohgrin popped into existence near the entrance to the glade. She was not sure what was more surprising about it, his timing in the middle of a fight, the location in a hideout he would have avoided like the plague, or the fact that he had been invisible. He and magic mixed about as well as oil and water.

“The one in the tree is going to wake up soon,” Neville announced to the clearing in general. Elyn had a league-long stare and Rohgrin did not look capable of rising. She started moving towards the downed archer and Neville added, “Do not kill him.” She thought there might have been a ‘please’ hidden at the end, but she also might have been wrong.

She climbed the stand where the last archer lay, unharmed but unconscious. It was Terin, an older elf who was an expert shot with a longbow. She quickly tied his hands with some rope, then tossed the longbow and quiver down before finally heaving Terin down. The cut on her leg from the arrow that had grazed her stung like the fel but she managed to lower him down about halfway to the ground. Neville. . . well the lanky mage didn’t really catch him, but he softened his fall. Terin did wake up about then and started thrashing about until Schava could come down and put her knife above his face.

“If we were going to kill you we would have. Tell us where Erom kept his stash and you’ll get some too.”

He sneered at her. That's a hard thing to do, to sneer up at someone who has a knife in your face. As a reward for his bravery she only kicked him twice.

“Schava, stop! There has been too much bloodshed already!”

“That one wants me to stop, Terin. That twig of a thing. The problem with that is, I’ve wanted to punch you for a long time. Ever since you tricked me into going in that badger’s den. Said there was a nymph in there, you did, said she'd show me the time of my life. I’ve still got the scars.” She brushed a lock of hair away from the side of her face to show said scars. “So what I’m trying to say is, you should start talking, because I’m not going to stop until I’ve had my fill of blood.”

“It’s at the top of the tree that Bornael’s hut is up against, but I think there’s more somewhere. That’s all I know. Now I know when I’m beat, let me go.”

“I don’t think so.“

“I’m not about to take on five of ya!”

“Not a chance in the fel,” Schava said. Then the number caught up to her. Five? She glanced up to the trees. “Aradusili, are you alright?”

A brief glint of blue in a branch above filler her with relief. That was the only response.

 

 **.** **.** **.**

 

 _Elyn_ was just a little disoriented, but after the third person suddenly become visible again the spectacle was somewhat lost.

She was fairly certain she had been the cause, and was half annoyed by how fucking random this magic was that Neville had described to her. But the rest of her was utterly numb. She would never have been able to articulate it, but the young noble’s daughter was as physically and emotionally exhausted as she had ever been.

Elyn noticed when Olwind appeared, lying bloody in the dirt. He scowled at the armed man with no hair and burns on his head that showed up next to him. Then he breathed his last. The physical damage to his body might have been able to rouse a vicarious twinge of pain, but it was mostly concealed beneath his armor. She wondered what she was supposed to feel. Sadness? He had always been quietly unhappy, a miserable fellow through and through. On top of that, in the moment when she decided to run from her family she had written off seeing him ever again. If she had to make a list of people who she might miss, who made her regret that decision, he was not in the first five.

There he lay, dead. Ten feet from him was the body of a brigand who had asked how much she was worth in gold, also dead. Opposite Olwind was an unknown elven woman, dead. The only time Elyn’s life had ever intersected with hers was when she raised a hand to try and snuff her life out with a magic she did not understand and would probably never control.

In this state of dissociation, she moved over to the only prone person who seemed to not be dead. He was shorter than Schava, nor were his ears as prominently sharp, but they were still noticeably pointed. Probably a half-elf. He held a shield and a sword that was still sheathed in his scabbard. He looked up at her warily but made no move to attack. Once she was next to him the closer look let her recognize his face. He was bald now, with fresh burns on his head and neck, but it was definitely the blacksmith’s apprentice. The one who her father had commissioned. The one who had been toiling away through the night keeping her awake to try and finish an impossible request. How odd that he would be here.

“How’s the sword coming along?”

He chuckled, then laughed, then apparently his neck hurt because he forced himself to stop and he lay back on the ground.

“The dead people are the ones lying down. Are you going to die too?”

“I sure hope not,” he said, and closed his eyes.


	4. Stepping Over The Bodies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I think I’ve decided what school of magic I’m going to study.”
> 
> “What are the options?”
> 
> “Oh gods, don’t encourage him Elyn. Have you really never heard the saying, ‘Don’t ask a mage about magic unless you have a lifetime to listen’?”
> 
> “Schava! She’s a noble’s daughter, she . . . hasn’t experienced as much of the world as you have. Let her learn from her own mistakes.“
> 
> “I’m right here. . . assholes.”

_Sangama_ stood guard in Kynardor’s Court on the shores of the river Styx. Birth meant little in the fel so she had spent most of her life until that point fighting for survival, clawing her way up to the rank of Kynguard through force of will, deception, and a few well timed murders. Thirty-nine other Kynguard lined the walls, with a dozen incubi and succubi flitting around them as they came and went.

Kynardor languished on his throne. He alternated between cladding himself in the black plate armor that denoted his rank as Erinyes and baring his red skin in dominance. Today his unearthly beauty was on display, and the creatures of lust that passed through the halls orbited him like planets around a star.

Finally, there was the mortal. Sangama knew little of the different races of Idroth, but this one was a disgusting green of skin, with short tusks protruding from her lower lip.

“I felt your plea for power. Because of your loyalty I granted it, yet now here you stand before me. You were not summoned, you were not instructed to come to this plane, and you bring me no new souls or followers. You dare ask more of me?”

“My Lord, a cleric of the false light came across me just outside the village. He sensed our connection. I made sure he felt your eldritch powers, my Lord. There is one less servant of the divine on Idroth now.”

Kynardor leaned back in his seat of power.  “This is good. You have done well, mortal. But that does not explain your presence, and you will not make me ask twice.”

“My Lord! I ask no favor or boon from you, you have already been most generous. But. . . I fear that in the battle I was forced to use the power you grant me to kill the heretic. The other mortals realized my allegiance, and I was forced to flee before I could complete my goal. They will recognize me if I return. I cannot fulfill my tasks. I beg your forgiveness, my lord!“

The was a deadly silence for a minute. As it stretched on the mortal started to shake. Even from the side of the chamber where she stood guard Sangama could smell the stink of fear and the salt of mortal tears.

Eventually Kynardor said, “When you return to your world you shall seek out the temple of the divine that this particular heretic served and desecrate it. I will give you the means to do this. You are to kill most of the false light’s worshipers, but leave at least three alive, even if it means your own death. _You will learn_ that my instructions are more important than your worthless life.” He gestured at two of the Kynguard and one of the creatures circling him. “With that said, sending a cleric of the false light to the Void is a feat that will not go unrewarded. Be gone.” Two of Kynardor’s retinue led the mortal away.

“Sangama. Step forward.”

The abrupt summons startled the half-devil but she immediately obeyed. She marched to the center of the room and faced Kynardor, back straight and eyes forward.

“Change your appearance to that of a mortal.”

Sangama said, “Athru,” and ran her free left hand over her face. Her visage turned to that of a human she had once seen a succubus eat. He was strong of jaw but his nose was crooked and his left eye was missing. Probably a soldier from a brothel on Idroth, Sangama had overheard that such places were prime hunting ground.

From the corridor the mortal had been led down came a scream. In the Court of Kynardor one quickly learns to distinguish screams of pain from screams of pleasure. Sangama felt that such rewards were wasted on the mortal.

Kynardor produced a key made of solid shadow. “You will take this and travel through my gate to the world of Idroth. Once there you will ascend the Halls of Kyn. If you survive this, from the cave entrance at the apex of the halls you will see a collection of buildings around the mouth of a blue river. Infiltrate that village. Identify a soul that shines bright with virtue. This Dreamkey will allow you to enter their mind while they sleep and lead them to the Halls so that I may corrupt them.” He threw the key to the ground in front of the throne. “Go.”

Sangama picked up the key, then marched from the Court through a network of passages. She came to a ten-foot-high door made of blood iron that served as a gate. With a mighty pull it opened. As she passed over the threshold the world seemed to shift. The half-devil felt the subtle yet profound forces that divide the planes shift around as she stepped onto the world of Idroth, and into the story.

 

 **.** **.** **.**

 

 _Rohgrin_ briefly remembered being moved. It hurt, and kept him from finding a blissful oblivion.

He definitely remembered them taking his shirt and leather apron off. As it dragged over his burnt skin he had screamed. But now the air was cool and so pure. He could tell just by the taste of the air how far away from the workshop he was.

He was never going back.

Everything he had was in that workshop. All of Rohgrin’s potential value as a master blacksmith was locked away inside Garrett’s head, carefully parceled out so he would not waste any of it. And now Garrett was gone, and his only chance at a life of freedom was to get as far away from that workshop as possible.

Something was moving in the room with him. Rohgrin opened his eyes. Above him thin motes of light wiggled through the holes in a hut roof made of leaves and branches and twine.

His body ached, but only about as much as a hard day at the forge. Then he breathed in. His chest tightened as bruises made themselves known, skin pulled taut along his neck and up behind his left ear, and his arms ached from the. . . how many hours had he worked the bellows? They had started at eight that morning on the blank, then the Count had made his bargain and they worked nonstop until the explosion. Seventeen hours? Eighteen hours?

Ow.

“Good, you’re awake,” he heard a voice say. It was male, and elven, but it had the uptight cadence of a high elf. Lifting his head gingerly his suspicion was confirmed. Standing at the foot of the bed, reaching over his body for something on shelves was a shock of pale yellow hair. He was also clearly a mage. Rohgrin instantly disliked him.

“I know you are likely in pain. I have done the best I can for your burns with what I have. Do not take those bandages off for at least a day,” the elf said, turning towards him with a whittled wooden mug. “Are you thirsty?”

“What’s in that?”

“Just water. If I had something to give you for the pain, I assure you I would.”

He narrowed his eyes but took the mug. “Who are you?”

“My name is Neville Alun, but I suspect what is more important to you is the fact that I am the one who tended your wounds, and am the reason you can walk.”

“I sure don’t want to walk, Goldilocks.”

“That’s beside the point. I think your being here makes it rather likely that you are ‘on the run’ like the rest, yes?”

Rohgrin drank, careful not to spill any or stretch the skin on his neck, and used the time to think for a moment. He had been on the run before and knew exactly the dangers he faced. Even if he had been new to it, it is pretty self ex-fucking-splanatory that if you are on the run, you do not tell people about it. But goldilocks here had said ‘like the rest,’ implying that the other people around were also fugitives. So maybe it would make them more likely to help him? His brain started to ache like the ringing of the anvil used to make it ache so he stopped thinking.

“Yes, I’m running from a thing or two.”

“Then unless you want to be caught you’ll be walking. Schava says the first search parties will likely reach this place within two or three hours. We will have left by then so I advise you to be ready to go soon as well.”

“Schava? I remember seeing her last night. She. . . slit someone’s throat? I definitely remember her slitting someone’s throat.”

Goldilocks looked dark, but then he sighed and said, “Yes, that did happen.”

“I knew she could cut purses, and she’s shredded a heart or two in Sharmest, but by the gods.”

“You know her?”

“Yeah, she’s something of the local charlatan. Dice, cards, pickpocketing. I. . . uh, I learned from the stories and never dealt with her myself. Where are we, anyway?”

“We are currently in a den of brigands and highwaymen. Some of them have met their demise recently.”

“Like the ones that attacked that Count?”

“From what I have heard, they are the same group, yes.”

“Makes sense that Schava would stay around a place like this. Maybe we can tell the Count. He’ll be able to pardon us.”

“That is. . . not how that works, but even so there are certain complications that make such a plan impossible.”

Rohgrin took stock again and realized that he did feel significant pain, but it was manageable. He started to rise.

“Why are you helping me?”

“Well, I would have healed you either way. I have seen an exceptionally high amount of death in the past day, and I have even caused some of it myself. It. . . it felt good to heal instead. A small atonement, if you will. But as far as you coming with us, I will admit Schava was rather against the idea. I get the notion that Elyn is feeling guilty about your, uh, wounds,“ he said, gesturing to the side of Rohgrin’s face. “She can be rather persuasive it seems, and she talked Schava into it.”

Neville helped him to stand as he spoke, which felt awkward, but he made it to his unsteady feet. He carefully slipped the shirt and the leather apron he’d been wearing the day before over his bandages. Outside was a clearing that he remembered. He was hit full force with the only real difference from his memory, the overpowering smell of shit and death. Three elven bodies lay piled up across from them in the doorway of one of the huts. Flies buzzed around them.

He also saw two women, the wood elf he knew as Schava who had procured a longbow and quiver from somewhere and a dark-skinned human in a riding outfit that had clearly seen better days. That had to be Elyn. They stood next to a ramshackle cart made for a single horse and argued, but as he walked towards them they noticed and turned.

The human spoke up and said, “I am Elyn of Dunmoore. This is-”

“We’ve met,” Schava interrupted.

“I'm Rohgrin,” he introduced himself.

“Well met. I’m sorry that our meeting is under such dire circumstances, but I believe we must be on our way soon.”

He considered. From what the mage had told him about search parties, he might be better off with this lot than on his own. But that would mean being around a know-it-all mage, and Schava.

“Yeah, I’ve heard. I don’t really have anything except the weapons I was wearing. I would like them, then I'll be on my way.”

“They’re on the cart. Which brings us back to my point,” she said, turning towards Elyn again. “The bows and swords that Erom and his gang used, they can’t use them anymore. If we take them we can sell them. The only way we can take them all along with the chest and food and kegs and bedrolls is if we have the cart.”

“But we don’t have a horse, Schava. There is no road nearby. How are we going to get a cart all the way to the dwarven kingdoms?”

“We pull it! I’ll take one side, one of you take the other, and we’ll split the profit when we get there. There’s an easy sixty gold, more if we don’t have to fence it. We can’t just leave it behind.”

As Rohgrin got closer he saw that the cart was crooked, but quite full. At the back were sacks of various food and two kegs. There were some smoked and salted meats, apples, berries, and the like, but it mostly consisted of a tan bread he knew would be hard as a rock and about as flavorful. Packed in the middle were four worn bedrolls which he was not looking forward to sleeping on. In front was his shield and a suit of splintmail with a blood splotched kraken laid out next to his sword, two short swords, a dagger that matched one of the shortswords, a crossbow, two longbows, quivers of bolts and arrows, and a wooden chest with a heavy lock on it. He took his things.

“What’s in the chest?”

“That’s mine. I climbed all the way to the top of that tree to get the heavy fucker,” Schava said, pointing up, “and I’m going to pick the lock, and I’m going to get whatever is in it.”

“You took it from a tree? Did you drop it on the way down?”

“No!”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Alright, maybe, but it sounded like coins inside so I’m sure whatever is in it is fine.”

“There’s a weird blue liquid leaking out of that corner.”

“No there isn’t,” she said as she ran around to look. There was no blue liquid, but Rohgrin got a good laugh out of it until she smacked him on the shoulder. “That’s not funny!”

He looked at the young woman. She was smirking at him. He turned to the lanky mage, who looked on impassively. If what the high elf had said about pursuit from Sharmest was true he would need to leave soon. “Thank you, Elyn and Neville, for all the help you’ve given me, but - ”

“See! I told you he couldn’t pull it,” Schava said. “Come on Elyn, take the other handle.” She moved over to the cart and took one of the two handles that stuck three feet from the front of the cart.

Challenge accepted. Before anyone else could he took the other handle and heaved. The front pivoted up with a creak of rusted metal and they pulled forward. It moved two inches.

“Hold on,” he said. “This is going to take forever if you don’t grease the wheels.”

“Since when do you know about wheels?”

It was not difficult to look properly incredulous. “I’m a blacksmith, I - ”

“Blacksmith’s _apprentice_.”

While they were arguing Neville stepped over to the cart and inspected it.

“Lechi,” Neville commanded, taking two stones out of a pouch at his side and running them along the wheel that was listing. The right side of the cart started to raise. After a few seconds of chanting “Lechi” the right wheel was almost level with the left.

Rohgrin gaped and thought, _Fel and heaven and all the elements condemn mages_. “Well it’s still not going to go very fast unless we oil the wheels. When you raided this camp for all that food, did you find any linseed oil? Clearish-yellow substance, a little thicker than water. Like goldilock’s hair here made liquid.” he gestured to the mage as he said that. “Would be in a horn or a vial.”

“Hey,” Neville said amidst his chant of 'lechi.'

“I’ve got lamp oil,” Schava said.

Rohgrin sighed. “If we were trying to light it on fire that would be useful.”

They raided the huts and found some by the time the mage's repairing spell was finished. While searching Rohgrin found an older elf with his wrists bound lying in one of the huts, but when he asked Schava said that he should work his way out of the ties soon and to leave him there. Putting it out of his mind, Rohgrin applied a third of the oil to the wheels and they tried again.

Another twenty minutes were spent getting the cart through the illusory tree. It fit, or else how would Erom have gotten it in? But the fact that they could not see where the illusion ended and the real trees began made it difficult. By then the smell of the bodies was really starting to get to Rohgrin.

As the group left the glade they passed a freshly dug grave. Rohgrin did not have time to read the wooden marker, but he assumed it must be the human he had watched die the day before. He saw Elyn give the grave a long look before they finally set off.

Once they were on their way the four of them made a good pace. The forest was not flat, but they avoided the insurmountable terrain and between him and Schava they managed to rumble over everything else. Neville fell behind every so often to pick flowers but he always caught up.

Eventually the monotony got to them and they broke it with idle chatter. Neville told them about the University at Mannadale, where he had studied alchemy, humanoid physiology, and wizardry. Rohgrin mostly tuned it out, as it just reminded him of his distinct lack of arcane ability.

At some point Schava stole a glance over at him, then behind them. Softly so the others would not hear, she said, “We’re really leaving, aren’t we?”

“Yep. It seems we are.”

“I always said I would get myself out of that hole or die trying.”

“You did.”

“I guess I just didn’t see myself actually doing it.”

“I liked it there. Stable work. Honest people. Mostly.“

“Hmph.”

“I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life in Sharmest, and I was fine with that.”

“You’re real imaginative, aren’t you.”

“Hmph. Now I’ve killed a man I respected, burned down his workshop, and probably doomed his son and daughter-in-law to ruin. Not that it’s much to you, but normal people take that as something of a shock.”

Schava gave him a look he could not read, some mix between confusion and offence. Then she turned away and said, “Last night was the first time I killed someone too, asshole. When it’s you or them you do what has to be done.”

They fell into silence again after that. Rohgrin almost felt a little bad about it.

The late morning passed into mid afternoon before they stopped. The berries in the sacks did not travel well with all the bumps so they ate those first. They could not find a stream so Schava went to open one of the kegs. Only the combined weight of Neville’s logic and Elyn’s stern look of disapproval convinced her to pour from the one with water in it.

By then his body was beginning to protest. Neville took time to check and redo the bandages on his burns, then moved on to do the same with a cut on Schava’s leg that he had not noticed before. Mostly she complained about blisters on her hand so they decided to switch to different sides of the cart.

“So, who is Aradusili?” he heard the mage ask Schava as he bandaged her leg.

Schava narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t know who that is.”

“That’s odd, I saw you look up into the trees and ask if they were alright after the fight back there.”

She looked at him and said nothing.

“Are they going to be a problem for us?”

“No.”

After a few moments he shrugged and finished what he was doing.

They packed everything back onto the cart and started again.

“Ew. There’s soot all over the handle,” he heard Schava say, looking over at him. “I forgot how filthy you always are.”

Rohgrin looked down at his free hand. At that moment he was glad for his callouses from the bellows, they made pulling the wagon less uncomfortable. But he also knew from experience that even washing them in a stream every day his hands would be charcoal black for about a week. He could leave the forge, but it would not leave him. She scowled and looked away.

The village of Sharmest was close to the somewhat fuzzy border between the elven and dwarven kingdoms. It was difficult to tell how far they had traveled. As the western sky was just beginning to fade red they emerged from a bank of trees. The world seemed to unfold in front of them like the pages of a tome. Grasslands and fields sloped down to a canyon; a spine that the Gleresh River cut through the book of the world before gently rising on the next page. The setting sun behind them cast the distant peaks of the Alfum Tuves in a pink hue with about a hundred and fifty miles of rich farmland before them

They had escaped the Fey Forest. Anything they had done in Sharmest was meaningless out of reach of the elven constabulary. They were free.

 

 **.** **.** **.**

 

 _Neville_ made sure to pick all the blood moss he saw. He would need it to brew more potions and it only grew in the Fey Forest. When they emerged onto the rolling plains of the tuvlands he found a single bulb of dragon’s tongue and wanted to search the area for more but the others were impatient to put distance between themselves and their various crimes. He felt unsure that they were slipping out of any recompense for their actions, but he was convinced that training Elym and therefore preventing further loss of life to her magic was the best course of action so he did not object.

When the first rest was called he took out a book. He had been in Clarion Glen a month before and through his association with the University at Mannadale he acquired two books from their library, in addition to his own spellbook which he kept chained to his belt. He was working his way through _An History and Practice of the Arcane Rituals of the Drox_ , and since Elyn did not seem particularly keen to talk more of magic in that moment he pulled it out and started to read where he had last left off.

 

_Mostly a practice of mages dedicated to the school of conjuration, with some use by those of druidic nature and the ever defamed witches or warlocks of the world, the rite of bonding one’s mind to that of another, lesser creature is somewhat unique. Unlike many rituals in this work it is not selective of the Drox race, although there is strong evidence that they originated it._

_The target of this bond is often an owl, raven, cat, or snake, but it need not be limited as such. Petty and adept conjurers alike have been known to call forth a being from the Fey or the Fel and attempt to persuade it into service. This is similar to the pact a witch or warlock would make, but with the balance of power reversed. Instead of submitting to a creature to be granted power they call forth one to serve them._

_The ritual has as many variations as there are creatures of adequate intelligence to bond with multiplied by the number of sects of conjuration mages and witch covens. However, some aspects seem to be necessary. Firstly, one must burn honeysuckle and a resinous wood (sandalwood works best) in a brazier at dusk. Secondly, one must make offerings, both physical and immaterial. The physical is of food to the creature, which it must eat. The immaterial is the incantation; what the caster offers and what is asked of the creature. This is repeated for as long as the creature takes to arrive. Thirdly, a bond of the two creatures minds must be made by mixing a drop of each of their blood on a clean, flat surface. Polished stone or glass works well._

_This is only the bare minimum of materials required. More incenses can be burned in the brazier to attract specific creatures, and the food offered should be prey or feed of the desired creature. Many variations include burning leeches that have fed on the blood of the caster in the brazier, although the necessity of this is dubious at best._

_Bonding with another creature in such an intimate manner as the ritual of calling a familiar is powerful and has led to many fruitful friendships between caster and familiar, but with that potential comes great danger._

_It should be noted that this bond must be-_

 

“Hey. Goldilocks. Time to get going.”

Neville looked up. The others were all ready to move again. Satisfied that he had something interesting to think about for the next few hours of walking and foraging, he followed.

 

 **.** **.** **.**

 

 _Elyn_ saw the dusk feeling footsore, tired, and surreal. She was flanked by a high elf mage that held at least some knowledge of her curse. She followed behind a cart that was pulled by a half-elf who had burns that she had caused and a. . . well, to be honest she was not sure what Schava was, but there was clearly more to her than a first glance would show. She had been a drunk woman in an inn, then she popped out of the ground like a rabbit, and then she had led them to some secretive camp of outlaws. And the fact that she had also been hurt by the explosion as well made Elyn feel even guiltier.

They realized with a stricken look between Elyn, Schava, and Rohgrin that none of them could start a fire without a sparkstone, then they laughed when Neville snapped his fingers and said, “Ig.” The firewood ignited.

No one had a word to the contrary when Schava said she was getting the ‘good’ cask, and they drank a rough vintage of white wine around the fire. Somehow their lack of familiarity did not put a damper on the feeling of relief among the camp to be out of reach of the law.

“So,” Neville said. “I hope to help Elyn with her magic, but other than that what is the plan, exactly?”

“I hear them thar hill have dwarves in ‘um!” Schava said with an incredibly racist impression of a dwarven accent, gesturing to the range of mountains to the north and east.

“Wow,” was all Elyn had in response.

“Well if we're trying to stay away from the elven kingdoms that's clearly where we should be heading.”

“I wouldn’t mind seeing Stoneholm,” Rohgrin offered.

Schava scoffed. “What? The imperial prison? We just narrowly escaped being sent to prison, why would we go there ourselves?”

He looked sheepish and was quiet.

Filling the void in the conversation, Neville said, “I’m not sure where we should go, but I think I’ve decided what school of magic I’m going to study.”

Elyn looked over. She was not exactly sure what that meant, but the more she knew about magic the better off she would be.

“What are the options?” Elyn asked.

“Oh gods, don’t encourage him Elyn. Have you really never heard the saying, ‘Don’t ask a mage about magic unless you have a lifetime to listen’?”

“Schava!” Rohgrin admonished with a laugh. “She’s a noble’s daughter, she . . . hasn’t experienced as much of the world as you have. Let her learn from her own mistakes.“

“I’m right here,” she said. “Assholes.”

Neville’s eyes flicked back and forth between them, looking put off. He did not seem to be getting the reaction he had expected but he continued as if nothing had been said. “I. . . think I am going to focus on transfiguration magic. It was either that or abjuration, or maybe evocation, but while those sort of spells are useful they are not extremely interesting, whereas transfiguration is different for every material and creature.” He looked around, then added, “That is all I wished to say.”

Turning to Elyn, Rohgrin spoke up. “So I can see why Schava is on the run, but what did you do to find yourself here?”

Elyn opened her mouth to respond, then stopped as her face turned quizzical. She had scarred him, killed his mentor, burned down his place of work. . . had he really not picked up on any of this? She glanced at Schava, who looked with growing understanding, and Elyn tried to be subtle as she gestured a hand up and down her face.

Schava looked back at him. “Wait. So that’s what you meant earlier. . .” and then she burst out laughing.

Clearly she was no help. She faced Neville instead. He had no advice for how to handle the situation, but at least he had the decency to look uncomfortable.

“Alright, what did I miss?” Rohgrin said gravely. “Just tell me. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Schava doubled over. Elyn leaned over and swatted her on the shoulder.

“Hey! Watch who you hit, girl!”

“Learn some tact and it won’t be necessary.”

Schava got up to leave, grumbling about having to piss.

When she was gone, Elyn turned to Rohgrin. “I. . . am not sure how to start, so I guess I’ll just say it. I was the one who caused the explosion. The one that killed- uh, the blacksmith. And burned you.”

He stared at her blankly.

“I’m sorry.”

The half-elf looked from her to the fire. After a moment he said, “I knew I didn’t mix that fuel wrong. There’s no way it would blow up like that.”

He had thought he did it. Cleric’s shit. That was why he left the village.

“Rohgrin. . . you can still go back. You didn’t - ” her voice stuck in her throat but she pushed on. “You didn’t kill anyone. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“No, I can’t go back. If _I_ thought I did it, everyone else will to. Especially after I ran.” Silence descended on them again, this time less pleasantly. Rohgrin broke it again after a few minutes. “So, I believe you. Mostly because I realize how I couldn’t have done it. But how did you do it? And. . . why?”

“It was an accident! I have these, I don’t really know how to describe them. . . “ she trailed off, looking at Neville. He was the only one who had been able to put any idea forward on what her powers were, and thankfully he stepped in.

“Elyn is a wildmage. A sorceress. What that means is she has an innate connection with magic. Either she was born with it or she was exposed to very powerful magic at some point that changed her, but it is a connection that. . . well, it is somewhat like a river. It is always flowing. You can dam the river and it will back up, but the water does not just stop running because you dammed it. Eventually the dam will be full and it will overflow. If the power does not have a vent of some kind, a safe way to utilize it, bad things will happen. Usually they are small, sometimes they are big, and they are always chaotic. You never know what is going to happen around a wildmage.”

“You remember how everyone turned invisible all of a sudden? That was me. Also on accident, though.”

Schava returned then, adjusting the hardened plates of what Elyn now recognized as the leather armor she wore. “Alright, I’m headed to bed. Any of you get the idea of slipping into my bedroll, I sleep with my daggers.”

“Then make sure you wash them before you stab anyone with them,” Rohgrin said with a smile.

“Says the man with sooty hands.”

Elyn looked over at Neville, who was holding back a laugh. She raised an eyebrow in question but he just shook his head.

There was another pause as they watched the fire.

“You know, Rohgrin actually brings up an interesting point. My father would absolutely never take me back after what happened. Rohgrin would be blamed for the fire. Schava. . . well, apparently she’s Schava.”

“Hey!” they heard from her bedroll.

“But you seem very, uh. . .”

“Uptight?” Rohgrin suggested.

“Rohgrin!”

Neville interjected, “No, it is fine. I have certainly been called that before.”

“It just doesn’t add up quite as well as it does for us. That’s why I covered for you when Erom was putting us through that test. You’re not on the run, so what’s your story?”

“Well, you are correct that I’m not running from the law. While I might have accrued some implication in your actions, I believe the constabulary would see my innocence if it came to that. But to your point, I am here because. . . well, I feel something of an obligation to be. From what you have told us of your family, they were not supportive of your arcane gifts. In fact they sound downright regressive.”

Elyn had been keeping eye contact, one of the most important nonverbal points of conversation, but as the conversation shifted she could not keep herself from looking away.

“In the little time I have known you, I have come to believe you mean the world no harm. But if you do not learn to control your gift, you _will_ do harm, to yourself and to others. Magic is complicated. I know, I am studying it. Someone needs to help you in this, and I am the one that is here.”

“Ugh,” Rohgrin said. “I’m going to bed before I vomit. Wake me up for second watch.”

When he had curled up on his bedroll and turned away, Neville whispered, “He knows that elves do not sleep, right? I mean he is part elf. He has to know that.”

Elyn stifled a laugh. “It doesn’t sound like he does. I didn’t know that.”

The mage sighed. “Anyway, you wanted to know what the schools of magic were earlier. Do you still want to know?”

She got the feeling he was deliberately changing the subject. He had explained his motivation for why he was still here, but what he had been doing before events thrust them all together and where he might want to go next were left pointedly unanswered. Elyn knew that sometimes it was best to let her curiosity wane a bit, at least until a better opportunity to ask came up.

“Sure. Yes, definitely.”

He went on to list and describe the schools of magic. There was evocation, essentially the art of blowing things up. Then transfiguration, the art of turning one thing into another. He spent some time on it, presumably because it was what he had studied the longest. Alchemy was the mixing of potions, which sort of fell under transfiguration and sort of deserved its own classification. Divination he said was supposed to extend the senses and tell the future, but the latter part was mostly bollocks. She thought illusion was rather self-explanatory, if it looks real but is not real it is illusion magic. Neville explained that it also composed the realm of mind magic, making people suddenly believe things that were otherwise nonsensical. In a similar vein, everyone knew what necromancy was about, but he told her that certain healing and reviving magic were necromantic in nature, while the rest falls under evocation or transfiguration. Abjuration is mainly the art of defensive magic. Wards, invisible barriers, protections against specific people or even otherworldly beings, that sort of thing. Summoning those otherworldly beings, or traveling across the planes to them, was conjuration.

As he talked, Elyn felt more and more at ease. The campfire somehow felt. . . softer. All the talk of magic made things a little less anchored in the strict realities of the world and a little more fleeting. She had heard stories about how the Fey Forest was innately mysterious, thick with arcane magic. In that moment, though, a patch of grass and a campfire next to a old cart in a field was the most magical place in the world.

Elyn felt the well of energy in her chest start to swell and her heart quickened.

The elven mage was in the middle of describing how artificing, the construction of magical items, was really more craftsmanship than a school of spellcasting when she interrupted with, “Neville, it’s happening again! What do I do?”

“Oh shit, alright, um,” he said, feeling around on the ground around them. He produced a stone and held it up. “Make this glow like a torch. You see it? Fix it in your mind, then close your eyes. Imagine instead of a stone being here, the head of a torch is in its place. It is bright, bright enough to hurt your eyes in this darkness. You feel that tightness in your chest?”

Elyn would not call it a tightness, but rather another stomach right in the center of her chest that was full and angry and rumbling. She definitely felt something so she nodded.

“Draw from that tightness, that is your connection to magic. Coax a little piece of it out and wrap a thread of it around the stone so that it glows.”

She did not want to ‘draw from’ this second stomach high in her torso, she felt like that would make her throw up. But she tried to focus on the stone and harness that energy, imagining it softly igniting in flame. Elyn kind of understood what he meant by a ‘thread’ then as the feeling in her chest seemed to expand and she felt tingles sweep over her body.

Elyn could not remember when this magic had first welled up in her, but it was long ago. She had a lot of experience pushing the feeling down into a little box inside herself. As she sat there by the fire she had to resist the reflex to do that again. It was as if she held a delicate cloud in her hands that she could disperse in an instant and had an urge to do so.

Then the slowly pulsing ball of energy within her stopped growing. The threads of energy moved through and around her, causing hair to stand on end where they connected, but it was not chaotic and it was not out of her control. It was rhythmic. There was a pattern, a hum to it she felt she could hear if she tried hard enough.

“Elyn? You have it, now you need to channel it. Think of the stone glowing and let the energy trickle towards it.”

Elyn tried to do that, but glowing stones and torches were long from her mind. Holding the humming ball of energy in her hands in her mind, she tried to direct it towards the stone that she knew was in front of her. Her fragile grip on the energy broke. She felt what had been a pulsing cloud with wispy tendrils suddenly shrink. It condensed and seemed to react with itself inside her chest, fizzling and popping and then it burst.

She braced herself, expecting to die in an blast of heat and flame, or maybe wink out of existence. Instead she felt a pressure on her mind, like how her younger brother Gearin would press his knees into the back of her chair at the theater but it was inside her skull.

Her eyes were still shut, but she squeezed them tighter and tried to wait it out. When it did not go away she opened her eyes. The waving flames of the fire had a green tint to them. Elyn turned to her left and where Neville had been sitting was a creature with shriveled gray skin and a line of many empty eye sockets that completely circled its otherwise featureless, oval head. She kicked at it and rolled away, scrabbling to her feet. A mischievous giggle made a chill run up her spine, all the more terrifying as it seemed to come from all around them.

When she looked back, Neville sat there again, his hands held out in an attempt to pacify her. Schava and Rohgrin were both sitting up and looking around.

“Elyn! It is alright.”

“What the _fuck_ was that.”

“You just cast a spell. Everyone go back to sleep, we’re fine. Elyn, it was not real. Remember what I said about illusion magic earlier? That spell you just cast, it. . . twists the mind, causes delusions and keeps the target from thinking clearly. I recognized it.”

“I heard something laughing,” Rohgrin said.

“That was just the spell. Everything is fine.”

He grumbled and went back to sleep.

Elyn felt utterly drained. The previous night she had barely slept, and the hours of trudging had her missing the carriages she hated so much, but that was not the half of it. She had never really controlled her magic before. She had shoved it down plenty of times, and occasionally it burst from her in some unpredictable way. But she had never held it like that before, shifting and darting but mostly tame, like an imaginary dove in her imaginary hands. That exertion had tired her in ways she did not comprehend, stretched muscles in her mind that were lethargic from decades of neglect. She was exhausted.

But that did not negate the fact that Neville had turned into some sort of shadow creature for a moment. With arms that felt like logs trying to drag her down she pulled a stick from the fire, then said, “Make this cold.”

Neville looked confused but with a wave of his hand and a muttering of “Albar,” the end of the stick went from glowing red to black.

“I’m not going to hurt you, but don’t move.” She moved the stick to the side of his head, then poked his temple, where an empty eye socket had been moments ago. It was solid.

She threw the stick back in the fire and started setting up her bedroll across the fire from him.

Brushing soot off his face, Neville said, “Alright. Any chance you’re going to explain that?”

“Nope.” With that Elyn went to sleep.

 

 **.** **.** **.**

 

 _Schava_ dreamt that she was on a ship adrift at sea. It was heading towards rocks, and the rest of the crew was below keeping safe from the rain. It was just her. She saw the helm in front of her, and the ocean over the side. If she tried to turn she might fail, and she would die with the crew. If she jumped she might be able to make it to land. She stood there on the deck paralyzed with indecision.

Outside of her dream, Rohgrin was about ten feet away. He had been up for some hours keeping an eye on the sky and the waving fields of grass around them. The morning light was just starting to poke over the Alfum Tuves in the east.

“The fuck do you want?”

He jumped just as he pulled an arm back to throw an apple at her. “You’re already up? Good, it’s your turn to take watch,” he said, laying down and turning away.

“Take watch from what? We’re alone in the middle of a field,” she argued. She did not remind him that she and Neville were perfectly alert in their waking dreams and although their eyes might be closed their ears and mind worked just fine. He knew. She had told him several times before, as they lay in bed together, but he somehow always just assumed that if he needed to sleep then everyone was going to stop for some number of hours until he was up again. Back then it had made it really easy to slide a few silvers from his pockets and leave.

With the sun slowly rising she could slip back to her waking dreams if she wanted, to the ship and the dilemma that awaited her there. Schava did not want to know what she would choose, though. Instead she propped herself up and looked around. The three shapes that were Neville, Elyn, and Rohgrin all lay sleeping or in a trance. The cold light of dawn did not let her see very well or far, but there was no orc raiding party bearing down on them. She stretched and relieved herself and returned to the cart.

That is when her blood really started flowing. Erom's treasure. She had not yet had a chance to try the lock on the chest, but what better time than when all the others were sleeping? The only worry was Neville, who was also in his waking dreams, but she was sure she could be quiet enough that he would not notice. She stepped over to the cart, pulling a pick and lever out of her boot. Looking closely, it was a heavy lock, but that meant the tumblers in it were easy to differentiate. She put some torque on the lock and slid the bolts up. This lock started with the fourth and then went in order, first, second, third, fifth, sixth. There was a slight _click_ as each one slid into place, and in just under a minute the lock was off.

The wood creaked a bit as the lid swung open. Inside was a bed of coins, mostly copper but she could see a good portion of silver, hints of gold, and she saw two gemstones about as large as the first knuckle of her pinkie finger. Also, oddly, there was a frame of wood with ten wires strung along it partially buried in the coins.

She heard an, “Oooh!” from behind her and quickly but quietly shut the chest, looking around. No one was there, but a voice she recognized whispered to her in sylvan, a beautiful and lilting language that seemed to almost disperse on the wind. She had not heard it in months. “Thumbs make that so much easier,” it said.

“Aradusili?” she whispered back, looking around. If Neville had heard the faint noise he did not show it. “What are you doing here? I thought you never left the forest.”

“Usually I don’t, but your friends are. . . interesting, so I thought I might tag along until you get boring again.”

“You know how I hate talking to the air. They’re asleep. Show yourself.”

A two foot long, four-legged serpent became visible on the lid of the chest she had just closed. It was a vibrant blue that simultaneously reminded Schava of the deep blue of the sky directly above on a clear day and the soft, light blue of a robin’s egg. Two butterfly wings grew from its back and a thin purple crest ran along its spine from head to tail.

“You’re going to share some of this with me, right?”

Suddenly it clicked into place.

“You greedy little wyrm. That was you last night, wasn’t it? It felt like the stuff you do.”

The small, butterfly-winged dragon fluttered innocently.

“Where were you when we had to kill Erom and the others, huh? Where were you when I got blown up? You could have helped. Why should you get any of this?”

“I was watching. Well, I was watching for part of it. I didn’t see the fire but it got my attention. I did see the fracas. That invisibility your new friend made was quite impressive. If you’re feeling like I haven’t earned my share, you _can_ thank me for leading the sword-carriers who were after you across the river.”

“We were well ahead of them, we would have been fine.”

The little dragon creature turned her head to one side. Her almost permanent grin widened as she stifled a giggle. “You are very bad at judging distances, Schava. They would have caught you in the glade about an hour before you left.” With that, she vanished again with a light _scrape_ of her talons on the wooden chest as she took off. She always did like to make an exit.

Schava waited a moment, trying to listen for Aradusili, but ultimately she knew if the little shit did not want to be heard she would not be. She opened the lid again. The inside of the chest was divided into several compartments. Everything was tossed around after being dropped from the tree, but nothing looked broken.

She looked back at the others. Still asleep. She quickly picked through the chest, digging up five gems and about twenty gold and putting them in the coinpurse she had nicked from Elyn. As she uncovered one of the gems it vanished and she made a quick grab, catching Aradusili around the middle while she was still invisible. A flash of blue light altered Schava’s mind as the faerie dragon whispered, “Let me go.” She did, then growled as the spell wore off and the scaly monster was gone.

There was a lot of copper to sort through, and she would rather not be caught digging through it without them, so she closed the lid and locked it again, and just in time. She turned to see Neville stirring. He looked around and said, “What was that? I thought I felt something. Illusion magic.”

She shrugged. “All calm on the eastern front.”

He looked at her suspiciously, then looked around. He saw Elyn sleeping but nothing else, so after a moment he went back to his waking dreams.

In the next two hours Schava shot a rabbit that was bold enough to inspect their camp with the longbow she had taken from Terin. Then she cleaned it and stoked the coals of the previous night’s fire to cook it. The others woke to the smell of cooking meat and they broke their fast.

Over their meal she said, “So, to Tuve Calfern? We’re far enough from Sharmest that we should be fine for now, but it’s better not to tempt fate when a cell or a noose might be involved.”

When no one disagreed she added, “Oh yeah, and I think it’s time we opened up Erom's treasure chest.” They went to the cart and the chest. She made a good show of it being a difficult lock, but since she already knew how its tumblrs worked it was trivial.

She opened the lid. Everyone gasped.

“I think it is fair to say I would not have made it out of Sharmest alive without you all. And Rohgrin,” she added, “You at least are helping me carry it. So I think a four way split is fair.”

“Who’s gold is this originally?” Neville asked.

“Don’t worry, they’re dead. Erom wasn’t the ‘rob everyone that comes along’ type, said it left too many witnesses. He was the ‘wait in ambush until a big score comes along and then loot the dead’ type. That’s why he attacked you, I’m sure,” she added to Elyn. Neville did not look happy about it, but he was mollified.

“I did hear them say something like that, actually. And it was not a robbery. One minute we were rolling along, the next we were under attack. Radovid died.”

That irked Schava a bit. The fight on the road had not gone well for the side that she had known, and some of them had even been. . . well, not friends, but friendly to her in the past. She said, “Pith and Bornael and Renil died too.”

“Yeah,” Elyn agreed sadly. “And then Olwind and Erom and, um, that elven woman.”

“Phillaness. But, I mean, I killed her so I don’t think she counts.”

The two women looked at each other for a moment, elven eyes meeting human. Schava felt the slightest twinge of guilt. Or maybe it was self-preservation? The sorceress wielded inexplicable magic that could barely be controlled, if at all. People they had known died fighting each other. It would take very little to break their loose bond, maybe even come to blows. Schava had already directly stolen from her once and now she had cheated her a second time.

The human seemed to sense the tension because she said, “It doesn’t matter who killed who. They’re dead now and we aren’t. More importantly, together we’ve kept each other alive and out of the stocks.”

“The stocks?” Rohgrin said. “You mean the noose?”

“Uh, yeah. That’s what I meant. What I’m trying to say is, we’re safer together, and on top of that, you’re sharing this with us. So, thanks Schava.”

That was when the guilt really hit her. Schava looked away and said, “Yeah, no problem. Let’s get moving?”


	5. Harmony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "That was the single most reckless thing I have ever seen someone do."

_ Neville _ was glad when they reached the Gleresh river and the road that ran alongside it. They decided they were far enough away from Sharmest to safely use the road and it was much easier going than open fields. It led them further east and a bit south, heading towards the mountains. Elyn and Neville walked behind the cart, counting and sorting the coins. He occasionally stopped to veer off and pick from a plant or occasionally dig one up, bulb and all. When she asked he told her he was gathering ingredients.

They counted seven gemstones of various colors and sizes, a single platinum piece, seventy three gold pieces, three hundred and twenty eight silver pieces, and seven hundred and eighty three copper pieces. Most of them were elven minted, with dwarven bits second and human crowns a distant third. There were half a dozen coins of odd origins and a single silver mark stamped with the emblem of the Dragon Treasury. When they uncovered that one Neville conjured a magical hand to move it to a little drawer all on its own. Just in case.

They spent time dividing the loot up into four piles each with a gem, eighteen gold, and eighty one silver pieces. The copper was too cumbersome to split so they put it off for another time, along with the remaining three gems, the one platinum piece, the extra gold piece, and an insignia from the elven army that looked at least two hundred years old. As they dug through the chest they revealed an instrument, its ten vertical strings still intact despite the pounds of copper coins that had fallen on it. Like an archeologist with a find they uncovered it carefully and as soon as Neville touched it he could tell it was magical.

“You do not happen to play the harp, by any chance?”

Surprising him, Elyn said, “I actually did. But that isn’t a harp, it’s a lyre. I was tutored on the standing harp when I was younger.”

“How much of a difference is there?”

“Well there’s a lot more strings on a standing harp, for starters,” she said as she took the instrument from him.

“Wait. It is definitely magical, which means we should be careful. It could be cursed.”

“Are you serious? Have you ever heard of a cursed lyre?”

He reached out to take it back but she strummed her fingers across the strings before he could stop her.

Being a mage, Neville was familiar with the sensation of drawing up energy to cast a spell. At the University he had also felt what it was like for someone else to do the same thing nearby. And distinct from both of those, he now knew the feel of sudden magical concentration that preceded one of Elyn’s arcane bursts.

As a chord sounded out across the grass, he expected to feel the third. Instead it felt much like the second of those sensations. Strands of magic coalesced and wrapped themselves around the girl and the harp in clear, organized lines. To his relief it did not taste like the negative energy of the fel; it did not feel like a curse. But it scared him nonetheless. Any unknown magic is dangerous by virtue of it being magic alone.

“This feels. . . different,” she said. Then she plucked two of the strings together (they seemed to harmonize so she had to remember something from her tutors) and gestured towards the grass to the side of the road.

Neville only heard the chord for a moment before it was overpowered by a howling of wind that erupted as air funneled upwards where she had gestured. It was not a pillar or a cyclone but a wall that shot out at least fifty feet, the eddies of air outlined as light was distorted by it slightly and the odd blade of grass was ripped up through it.

Elyn put her hand to the strings to silence them and the wind instantly abated.

“That was the single most reckless thing I have ever seen someone do,” he told her, eyes wide.

From ahead of them Rohgrin and Schava had dropped the cart. “The fuck was that?”

Elyn held up the instrument with a childlike smile plastered on her face and said, “It’s magic!’

“You think? Warn us next time, you almost scared us to death!”

They took the interruption to distribute shares of the treasure before picking the cart back up. As they continued on Elyn was utterly lost in her new toy. She carefully started plucking away, just playing it now and not brandishing it like an arcane focus. For about ten minutes it was annoying as she seemed to be remembering what she had learned some number of years ago and applied it to the new instrument, adjusting how she held it and making mistakes with unpleasant  _ twangs _ .

Then she started stringing notes together. First it was short segments, a pattern of six or ten in a row. Then it lost some of the rhythm as she danced from one chord to the next. Within an hour of picking it up Elyn could play like she had been practicing her whole life.

Neville felt a constant, low thrum of energy from the instrument the entire time and he suspected that had something to do with her rapid learning.

The meandering improvisation of the lyre’s airy notes did help pass the time. A bit after midday they saw figures on the road ahead. It was a contingent of dwarves in armor, the emblem of Tuve Calfern flying on a flag that one of them held as they marched. Neville felt a twinge of nervousness in his stomach. The others had chosen to leave the forest because they were convinced it was their only chance at freedom, but now they found themselves in the land and under the law of the dwarves.

Schava and Rohgrin pulled the cart off the road to let them pass and Schava said, “They’re going to notice the bloody splintmail in the back. Tell them we were attacked by bandits near the forest. Our cleric friend and our horse died, and we still have the wounds. You need to be the one to say it, got it?” she asked, looking at Elyn.

“Uh, yeah. I think so.”

Sure enough, as the dwarves drew near they called for a halt. One of them approached and commanded, “State yeer business in the Tuvlands.”

Neville watched in surprise as the young human stepped forward. She said they were traders coming from Clarion Glen destined for Tuve Calfern and then Guíldar. Looking distraught, she told of their attack by brigands to the southwest when they had lost their good friend Pendal, a cleric of Welora, as well their draft horse.

The dwarven sergeant seemed taken by the ruse. His gravelly voice and hard consonants could not soften, but his response sounded sympathetic. “I’m sorry tee ‘ear that, madam. Bad luck in these times, that’s two clerics dead in a week.” His gaze passed over Neville, Schava, and Rohgrin, then back before stopping on the mage. “Mage, where did ye bury them? Might want to pay me respects.”

Neville’s ire started to rise. He would not lie, but he knew that if he told the truth there was a very real chance that they would be seized by these dwarves. But so far the line of questioning was not without holes.

He said, “Our former companion now rests just outside a glade about ten miles into the forest. I do not know any rites myself, but I do believe it was in accordance with Welora’s favor.”

Satisfied, the dwarven sergeant frowned and turned back to Elyn. “Always sad tee see a ‘ealer die. All the lives they might ‘ave saved if they were still ‘ere. . . Those areas aren’t nearly as well patrolled as we keep the Tuvlands, and we aren’t allowed within a mile of the forest on account o’ the treaty with the elves so our ‘ands are tied, unfortunately. I wish ye better luck on the rest of yer journey. There’s a village a league farther where yee’ll be able tee get another ‘orse.”

He waved them on and joined formation, then with an, “Ey, off!” they marched past.

Overall it had not been bad. No sneers, no spitting at their feet, and only one veiled insult. The dwarves had been significantly more professional than Neville had expected.

“Am I glad to see them,” Elyn said as they continued on. “I feel a lot better knowing the roads are safe, and we're definitely outside the reach of the elven constabulary now.

“Elyn, we’re all elves here,” Schava said from up front. “If you had not been here we would be in chains, and our stuff confiscated. They aren’t your friends, they just have more rules on who they can’t rob than Erom did.”

Elyn turned to Neville with a look on her face, as if to silently plead that surely it was not true.

“That was. . . unusually restrained of them, based on my previous experiences.”

They continued on, the peaks of the Alfum Tuves rising closer on the left as Holm bay approached on their right. The music emanating from the sorceress continued, its tune turning melancholy.

 

**.** **.** **.**

 

_ Schava _ started to feel her calves tremble an hour later from the exertion of dragging the cart and called for them to stop by a nearby boulder. Along the road was a river, and ahead a collection of buildings where it met the sea. They gathered around the back of the cart and had a meal, but when it was finished the atmosphere seemed dour.

“I want to punch something,” Rohgrin said suddenly.

Four different retorts came to her mind, but for once she made an effort to suppress them. “You know what, I do too. Want to spar?”

He looked her over. It only felt vaguely sexual, nothing like the looks they had given each other so many months ago in Sharmest. After a moment Rohgrin said, “I don't remember you being good with a blade."

She shrugged.

“I’m not very good without a shield.”

“That's fine. You use the stuff you brought, I’ll use the stuff I brought.” Schava took the matching shortsword and dagger she had seen Erom wield from the weapons in the cart. They were slightly curved and made to resemble leaves. The sword felt odd in her hands, too heavy and cumbersome compared to her dagger, but within a few minutes she was relearning the training she had received in her youth.

He did not have any armor on, and in fact he took his shirt off. She raised one eyebrow but then Rohgrin strapped the shield from the cart to his left arm and picked up the simple, straight longsword he had been carrying when he first arrived. She was not sure if he knew how many hardened plates her black leather clothing had worked into it, but it was better armor than the nice view. It was only slightly marred by the bandages on his burns along his neck.  


“Maybe I should take this off as well, then we’ll both be distracted.”

Rohgrin huffed and said, “I’m not going to fall for your tricks again.”

The two of them squared off to one side of the road, but Neville intervened. “Wait wait wait! You're not about to cut each other to ribbons with real weapons. Give me those.”

He took their three blades and pinched his thumb and index finger at the hilts before running his fingers up the edges, chanting some nonsense as he did. Then he handed them back.

Schava carefully put her hand to the edge of the blade. It did not look different at all, but it felt as wide as her finger and completely blunt.

“You have an hour. After that it will wear off.”

“You can end it sooner if we need these, right?”

“Yes.”

Satisfied, she turned back to Rohgrin. He raised his shield. Neville stepped back out of their way.

They circled for a moment before she leapt at him. She swung her sword overhand to keep his attention and her dagger came around his shield. He was stronger than she expected and smashed the sword out of her grip with his shield and twisted his body so the dagger only grazed him instead of plunging between his ribs.

In the moment before she could right herself he swung his sword around and put it to her neck.

“Dead.”

She sneered. “Again.”

Schava retrieved her fallen sword and they circled each other. Again, she made the first move. She feinted one way, then redirected to his right away from his shield. He caught the sword on it anyway but she spun and landed a solid hit on his shield arm. If the blade had been sharp his arm would be useless.

He countered the attack with a hit but she was moving away and it impacted one of the plates in her armor. She flitted away and came around from his left, landing a sword at his knee and a dagger in his gut. This time he caught her hard on the thigh, hard enough to numb her leg even with the blunted blade. She fell back and rolled away, coming to her feet out of his reach. With an overhand throw she hurled her dagger at his chest and it narrowly missed the shield before hitting his chest point first with a  _ thud. _ Then it fell to the ground.

“Dead.”

It was his turn to frown, rubbing his chest as he did, but he conceded the win.

“Again, and this will settle it,” he said, stepping away from the dagger.

“Settle it? I thought we were just sparring?” she asked with a wicked smile.

He raised his shield and readied himself. She did the same, and this time he made the first move. He charged her with his shield up and swung and she tried to dodge out of the way. He was too fast. Schava heard a  _ crack _ as one of the hard leather plates on her abdomen broke.

Rationally, she knew the blades were dulled. She knew that earlier when he had put the sword to her neck she had only lost a spar. But it was that moment, as Schava watched a sword swing around to impact her side that her own mortality struck her. If this had been a real fight she was sure she would be dead.

These thoughts only crossed her mind after her reflexes responded. Intimately close, she dug the edge of her sword into his side beneath his shield and plunged the tip of her dagger into the opposite armpit.

The two stood there for the briefest of moments, intertwined sculptures of death.

“Congratulations, you have succeeded in killing one another,” Neville said from the cart.

Schava realized she was panting and pushed away from Rohgrin. A wave of nausea rose up at the thought of her own death but she fought it back down with a hard swallow.

“I think we should call that a draw,” she heard Rohgrin say.

“Yeah.”

She tried not to limp as she made her way back to the cart. Erom's old weapons had matching scabbards. Instead of putting them back in the cart she strapped them on. It would be their duty to keep her from meeting his fate.  


 

**.    .    .**

 

_ Elyn _ was thrilled. For the first time in her life she had a solid hold of the energies that coursed through her blood. No longer was it suppressed, now she could feel a tension throughout herself that matched the humming of the air as she strummed the lyre. The instrument certainly had some innate magic itself, but the music that it produced was hers and hers alone. If felt like an inner noise she could not quite hear that had previously been out of tune. A constant chaotic thrum that would sometimes rise up to an uncontrollable cacophony. Now it aligned itself with the notes she played. If she stopped it lost its form and she had to push it back down into a quiet corner within herself or it would well up out of her control, but so long as she guided it with music she could handle it.

It was fantastic.

As Elyn played she also felt certain thrums of power from the strings. Twice that day she plucked a particular series of notes and felt a building of power from the lyre in her hands. She had years of experience holding in magic and she managed to do it again, but she wondered what would happen if she let it go. She made mental note of which combinations coaxed the lyre's magic out.

The midday meal was irritatingly bland, just the bread that felt and tasted like rocks and dried apples. Only a few days before and she had eaten pork and gravy with her family. Elyn wondered if she would ever taste gravy again.

As they stood overlooking the village at the mouth of the Gleresh river and Rohgrin and Schava sparred, Elyn decided to experiment with the lyre. She stepped away from the others towards the boulder they had stopped near. She remembered the pattern and plucked four notes out. After the second the energy started to build, the notes rising joyously. On the last it dropped, minor and dire, and it was like holding a fire in her bare hands. She knew she could push it down again if she wanted, but for once she did not. As the built up magic released everything went quiet. The clanging of metal on metal from Rohgrin and Schava stopped, but they were still just a few dozen feet away and they were clearly still sparring. She saw Neville’s head whip around at her before relaxing. It seemed the spell made utter silence.

She felt a light pressure on her mind, a slow but steady drawing of more essence from the lyre in her hands. It seemed like there was a limited amount of magic in it, and as the silence continued it slowly drained it away.

Absently she said, “Huh,” and had the odd experience of not hearing herself. Like the invisibility in the battle of that bloody glade it took a moment to adjust to. With an effort she shook her head, trying to rid herself of the pressure the spell seemed to have caused. Sound instantly returned around her and she heard Schava and Rohgrin grunting again, their weapons clashing.

Excited to be controlling and directing magic, Elyn proceeded to the second sequence of notes the lyre had responded to. This one was longer and sounded less like a melody. The low bass sounds of the fattest string played three times, then it rose a note before dropping back down again.  _ Dum dum dum dee dum. _

The magic swelled again, but it did not release immediately. Elyn felt the sudden, overwhelming urge to take a hand from the lyre and place it on the boulder next to her. As she did the thrum of magic that she held taut snapped. All of it surged into the rock beneath her fingers. She could feel the imperfections in it, the sharply angled lines of layer upon layer of dirt that had compacted down over untold years to form the thing in front of her. Guided more by the spell than herself, she willed the stone to reform. She felt the old stone shift and mold like dough for her, opening a concave recess into its side.

It took about ten seconds between her casting the spell and its completion. In that time the boulder in front of her had gained a new shallow bowl just about big enough for her to comfortably sit in if she wanted.

Until then Elyn had felt the lyre radiating with magical energy. Now it was completely spent, lifeless as a bit of string around a curved stick. She began to strum and pluck like she had been for most of that day. It was a little difficult to remembered how and the lyre remained inert, but it still made music and her internal noise aligned itself with the melodies. She wondered if she had wasted all of its magic power. Still, she was reassured that it could calm the storm in her chest. That was really all that was important.

 

**.** **.** **.**

 

_Rohgrin_ had an idea. They sat behind the cart after their spar and ate a meager meal. In plain view was the coat of splintmail that they had picked up. His bruises were already starting to form on his chest and sides where Schava's blunted blades had hit him. He hoped this violent business was over, but he suspected it was not.

“Elyn, how much shorter was that guard fellow than I am?”

“Uh. . . much shorter.”

Schava followed his gaze to the splint armor and said, “That’s way too small, you wouldn’t fit in that in a thousand years.”

“It would take about two days of work to repair and refit it, actually. I just don’t have a workshop to do it in.”

“There’s probably an elven quarter in Alfum Tuve with a smith, but if you think a Dwarf would let you use their forge you’re dumber than I thought.”

“Do you think I could find an apprenticeship there?”

She rolled her eyes at his hopeful tone. “Maybe, I don’t know. But you could just pay them. We have coins, remember?”

“Oh. Yeah, I could do that too. I just figured I would keep that for a room at an inn until, well, until I ran out or found work.”

"You worry too much," she sighed.

"Alright, let's get going," Elyn said as they finished their midday meal. Rohgrin rubbed his aching shoulder, and beside him Schava stretched. Their wounds had only a day of healing and pulling the cart had not been helping them go about it. The human seemed to notice. "If you two are getting tired, perhaps Neville and I should take a turn?"  


Rohgrin raised his eyebrows. Neville looked unsure as well, but it was Schava who laughed.

"You two pulling this?" she gestured to the cart. "You wouldn't make it to the village."

Neville ignored that, looking at Elyn. "Bringing that was Schava's idea in the first place, and after all they had started hitting each other with swords by their own volition."

“They doubt we could accomplish it, Neville. Don’t you want to show them you are more than a walking spellbook?”

Rohgrin watched the elf's back go even straighter than before. Without a word he walked around the cart and took one of the handles. Elyn smiled and did the same. There was a moment as they both heaved and the cart stuck stubbornly in place, then it lurched free and they were on their way.

As he walked behind the cart his gaze wandered. Out in the bay he thought he could just barely see the island of Stoneholm. On it were his parents if they were still alive. It seemed so simple to go and see them. He could visit, right?

But no. Any connection with them would land him in trouble, and he had already managed to find some of his own without them. Regardless of what he wanted, he would have to walk by as if it was just a normal walk along the seaside.

Beside him Schava stretched and said, “Ooohh, it feels good to be out from under that damn cart.”

He rolled his own shoulders. “Yeah. Told you they could do it.”

“No you didn't."

"Well I'm saying it now."

"They haven’t passed the first house yet. I bet you they won't.”

"How much?"

"One gold piece. You know I'm good for it," she grinned. He nodded.

An hour later as they crossed into the village proper Schava flicked him his winnings before saying, “Alright, that shop there should be some sort of a blacksmith or an armorer. If they won’t buy this shit look for traveling merchants and try to avoid appraisers and halflings, they’ll cheat you more. I’ll look for a jeweler or a fence for the gems we found. Meet in that inn at sundown?”

Everyone nodded. Neville said he wanted to find an arcane shop or an apothecary and left. Elyn stayed behind with him and the cart.

“I guess we’re the ones who get to sell this stuff,” he said, gesturing to the various weapons and dented armor.

Elyn picked up the crossbow and bolts and said, “Yep. Let’s see what we can get for them.”

He took a moment to throw the suit of splintmail over his shoulder before following. As they approached the workshop he could hear the familiar sound of the bellows. Inside was a trio of dwarves busy at work. One of them noticed Elyn and Rohgrin and stopped.

“Welcome tee the Uldarr brrother’s smithy,” he said, landing hard on his r’s. “I’m Mathok. Looks like yee have some armourr needs repairrin’ but by yeer face I’d say yee should ‘ave bought a helmet a long time ago, blackhand.”

Rohgrin was about to tell the dwarf how he could get similar burns on his head very quickly when Elyn said, “I am Elyn, of Dunmore, and this is my friend Rohgrin. We were attacked along the road from Clarion Glen and our cleric friend fell. We hated to do it, but we buried him in cloth. I’m sure he would understand the practicality of taking the armor, and the bandits had some weapons on them as well. He’ll have a breastplate of diamonds now.”

“I see. So yee don’t want it repairred?”

Rohgrin swallowed a sneer and asked, “How much would you buy it for, and how much would it cost to refit it to my size?”

“We’d buy it for, oh, eighty gold. About as much tee fix it up, and it would take us three or four days. If yee are lookin tee get rid of that other scrap with yee, I’ll add another seventy for the longbow an’ crossbow.”

“How much to have use of your workshop while I fix it myself?”

“Ha! Yee want to fix that mess? By yeerself? He he he, oh, m'thanks blackhand, that’s a good laugh that is.”

“Sixty gold for the use of your shop,” Elyn said.

He looked to her. “No. Yee can’ use our shop. We have things to do. Hundred gold for the labor to repair it or we’ll give yee hundred and fifty for the scrap.”

“How about this,” Rohgrin said, looking Mathok in the eye. “A hundred for the weapons, and if I can repair this armor before midnight you let me use your workshop to refit it. If I lose,” he pressed on, cutting off the dwarf’s protest. “If I lose, I give you the armor for free.”

Mathok leaned back and pondered for a long moment. Then he smiled a vicious smile and said, “Sure, I could use another laugh. Horace! Gim! Finish up, take the billets off the coals. We’ve got the rest of the day off.”

Rohgrin held out a sooty hand. Mathok clasped it with an equally sooty hand, and they collided with a faint puff of black smoke before they shook.

He immediately set to work, hauling the splintmail to a nearby table. On first glance it looked pretty bad, and smelled worse. Blood had soaked the leather backing behind the vertical steel strips that made up the bulk of the armor.

He still wore the leather apron that he had been wearing when he left Sharmest as well as his tool belt (now something of a weapon belt), so he took the few tools that had been on him during his escape and put them back into their rightful places. It felt oddly  _ right _ again.

The place where the crossbow bolt had rent the armor was the only real damage. In ten minutes he undid the rivets holding the pierced strip of steel in place. He went to the rapidly cooling forge and fired it. “Coal or charcoal?” he asked.

“Charcoal, a’course,” the dwarf called Horace said before rolling off a string of curses for anyone who used anything else. This was partially drowned out as Elyn produced her new harp thing and started playing. The four of them stood by and watched as he worked, but they could have been in the astral plane for all he noticed.

Once the forge was heated to where he needed it Rohgrin put the pierced strip of metal on the anvil, hit it six times with a hammer that was lying nearby so it was mostly flat, and then placed it in the coals with a pair of tongs.

While he waited for that he grabbed a cloth and started working the blood out of the leather. One of the dwarves complained that he was ruining their workcloths but he shut them up by saying, “I’ll pay a gold piece for a clean, dry cloth and some lye.” They were produced quickly and he paid without looking up from what he was doing.

Because the metal strip was so thin he knew it would not take very long to heat through. Abandoning his cleaning for the moment he took it from the heart of the forge and held it to the anvil again. Standing it on end and tapping it, he folded the metal over. Then he folded it again before pounding it as flat as he could. It was now much thicker than it had been and significantly shorter.

He tried to draw it back out to length but it started to flatten and widen instead of lengthening. Rohgrin placed it back in the forge, fired it, and set back to the leathers to clean them.

About an hour had passed since Rohgrin and the dwarves had made their bet. The sun was getting low in the sky but it was not ready to set. He had three more hours until midnight, maybe four if he was lucky. He had never been very good at telling time.

Neville returned and said he had found an apothecary with the ingredients he had hoped to find. If they agreed, he wanted to spend the copper on more so he could make potions for them all. Rohgrin just nodded and focused on a particularly thick area where the blood seemed to have pooled and hardened. He remembered Elyn's guard lying dead on the ground and pushed it from his mind.

“You know Rohgrin, I could clean that in an instant if you wanted,” the mage said.

“No!” he and Mathok both shouted in unison.

A pair of pointy blond eyebrows raised, but he did not say another word.

Working faster now, Rohgrin took the metal from the forge again. He folded it lengthwise so it narrowed and hammered it until it elongated again. It was difficult hammering it thin enough while also not fracturing it. This time he got the right shape and size, and he curved the strip so it would fit along the curve of the shoulder where it had come off. Lastly, he took his smallest hammer and carefully folded the edges of the metal inwards to make a hollow ridge along the perimeter. He had seen Garrett make shields with a similar ridge, he said it was better to catch the edge of a sword. The other splints on the armor had it so this one had to have it too. This whole process took quite a while, and the sun set somewhere during this time.

He heated it one last time before tempering, working the bellows furiously to push the temperature inside as high as he could as fast as possible. After an hour in the heat he removed the splint from the coals and quenched it. Thinking fast he disconnected the bellows and held the splint in front of the vent as he worked it. For twenty minutes he did this, blowing air over the splint to cool it. Then he placed the steel in the forge again and watched closely.

When he saw a hint of red in the edges he felt a jolt. Too cold and the tempering would not take. Too hot and it would be completely undone. Once it was glowing a dull red he took it out.

“How much time do I have?”

"Half an hour.”

Rohgrin sighed. He could do that. He set the splint down to cool and pierced two small holes as guides for the rivets. Then he quickly hammered out two rivets. He barely heated them, he basically just cold-hammered two steel nails that he found lying around. With about fifteen minutes to go he put the still hot splint in its place, pressed the sharp ends of the rivets up through the underlying leather and the holes in the splint. Finally he hammered the shit out of the rivets to beat them into place.

“Time?”

“Five minutes to midnight,” Mathok said.

Since he still had time he quickly sanded and polished the splint he had just made and the flattened heads of the rivets, scrubbing furiously again. He saw Elyn lean over to the dwarves and suddenly Mathok burst out laughing, which startled Rohgrin almost enough to make him drop the armor.

When he stopped laughing Mathok said, “Alright, alright boy, yee can stop. Bring it here, let’s see how yee did.”

Rohgrin heaved the mass of leather and steel over to the three dwarves. They crowded around the shoulder and looked critically. Horace made to rub his fingers over it and flinched away.

“Still hot,” he growled.

“I know, that’s the daft thing. He wouldn’t ‘ave done it quick enough unless ‘e let it finish cooling on the damn armourr.” Mathok glanced at him. “You sure cut it close lettin’ it cool before you tempered it. Could ‘ave used another ‘alf an ‘our, but it was enough to get the job done. Not sure if yeer mad or brilliant, but yee did it, and it won’t be said that the Uldar brothers go back on their worrd. We’ll ‘elp you get this rusty old shite refitted. Tomorrow! Tonight, I owe you a drink!”


	6. Keys and Dreams

_Neville_ let go of the cart’s handle that evening with an explosive sigh of relief. He remembered Elyn’s words, “Don’t you want to show them you are more than a walking spellbook?” He remembered lookin at Rohgrin, glistening in the noonday sun, his shirt still off after he and Schava had sparred. The wizard remembered the impulse that came over him, to show the man that while he might fight his battles with his mind he still knew something of strength.

The half-elf was still in his thoughts when he and Elyn brought the cart into town. He saw Schava flip a gold to Rohgrin. So they had bet, and he had bet they would succeed? Neville looked to Rohgrin. The half-elf did not seem to notice. He sighed.

They agreed to meet at an inn at sundown, so Neville left to search the village on his own. He found an apothecary quite quickly, and was glad to see another magic user there. Behind the counter was a mundane looking dwarf with thick braids of brown hair sprouting from his head and face like vines, but there was also a halfling woman dressed in clear mage’s robes browsing the shelves. There were racks of potions, medicines, and poultices, as well as a vast array of herbs and fungi. After confirming that the shopkeep had plenty of ingredients for making healing potions Neville approached the other customer.

“Pardon, my name is Neville. I was wondering if I could ask you something?”

She looked up at him with an arched eyebrow and a smirk. “You can ask. I won’t promise an answer.”

“Have you ever met a wildmage?”

“No, I can’t say I have.”

“I was hoping you had,” he said with worry. “I recently met a human woman who seems to have a distinct lack of control over her sorcerous powers, and I am at somewhat of a loss on how to help her. Unfortunately she is a danger to herself and others, and I was hoping for any advice on how I might be able to help her bring her powers under control.”

Her face turned serious as he spoke, and she answered, “I can’t think of anything in particular. Can you tell when she’s about to lose control of her arcana?”

“Sometimes, yes.”

“There are places in this world where the lines of magic are spread thin and it can scarcely be used. I would say to find one one of these places, I know the Alfum Tuves have a few such places nestled among their peaks. If she’s a danger, get her to one so she can be a little safer while she figures it out. I’ve met sorceresses and sorcerers who have mastered themselves and their arcana, I know it’s possible. It’s just. . . messier.” She gave him a sad half-smile before saying, “I’m sorry, I wish I could help more but I have to get this redbell home before nightfall. Moonlight leeches all of its potency.”

She carried a maroon orchid to the counter before paying and leaving.

Turning back to the shop, Neville put Elyn’s difficulties from his mind. He wondered what he might be able to brew with the ingredients available, all arrayed on tables and shelves that were about knee height to him. He recognized about half of them. A few more he had read about, mostly things native to the Alfum Tuve mountains and caves or the coast along Holm bay. He saw all of the materials needed for a potion of polymorph, but they were more expensive than he could afford and the brewing process was beyond his modest abilities. There were also things that could be used to make concoctions within his reach, like potions of resistance or water breathing, or maybe an oil of sweet water. He saw a stack of four jagged, curved crescents about nine inches long in a glass case behind the counter and wondered if he would be able to pull off a potion of giant strength. That would be a feat he could strive towards.

Now armed with the knowledge of what he could acquire, he needed to talk with the others. He left with a promise to the dwarven shopkeep that he would return.

He spotted Schava almost immediately outside the shop and intercepted her.

“Schava! I was hoping we could pool our resources to buy ingredients here, and in turn I will use them to make potions that we all will find useful.”

“Yeah, sure. The treasure that we couldn’t split evenly, use it for whatever you think is best. That should be plenty. Also there’s a goldsmith on the other side of the river that will take our gems if you want to exchange them. It’s practically silver to the gold we could get for them with a better buyer though.”

After that he left to find Elyn and Rohgrin. He found the wildmage alongside three dwarves, looking on as Rohgrin worked on something. Neville asked the same of them. Rohgrin did not seem to notice, focused as he was in his work in the center of this odd scene. Then Elyn gave him another twenty-five gold bits as his share of the stuff they had sold.

Giving Rohgrin a closer look, he noticed the man was cleaning blood out of the set of splintmail armor they had been lugging around. Having a newfound sympathy for the manual labor he and Schava had done dragging the cart from the forest to the village, Neville wanted to help. With a wave of his hand and a word and the armor would be clean. All of this scrubbing was silly and unnecessary.

He mentioned it and both Rohgrin and one of the dwarves snapped at him.

Clearly unwanted at the moment, Neville set off back to the apothecary. He had decided on brewing the potion of giant’s strength, but he knew it would be a stretch as the ingredients were difficult to acquire and therefore likely too expensive. He approached the dwarven shopkeep and said, “I’m interested in purchasing some ingredients, but I only have so much gold. Most of my coin is in copper, in fact. To do away with that hassle, how much would you value gems like this one at in trade?”

He held one gem he had out to the shopkeep to see. The dwarf picked one up and held it to the light, then said, “It’s small. Are they all this color?” Neville shook his head. “Thirty gold each. Maybe thirty five for this blue one, I like it.”

“So a hundred and twenty five,” he summed. “How much is a giant’s toenail?”

Turning to look at the glass case behind him, the shopkeep answered, “The ones up there are from cloud giants. They’re more than you have here for sure,” he said, handing the gems back. “We have some from hill giants that I’ll part with for a hunner’ and seventy gold apiece.”

“Hmm.” He could afford that, but he also wanted to make more fo the potion that he had used to heal Schava. It had proved to be invaluable, and if the choice was between testing his abilities as an alchemist and living to fight another day, he would chose to live.

“How about enough toadstool and treant sap for four healing brews? I already have plenty of blood moss.”

“Don’t ‘ave any treant sap but tuvberries will do the same.”

Neville looked incredulous. He was about to say that they would not, and that tuvberries were about as magical as grass, but he refrained.

“How about canis cave lichen?”

The shopkeep thought for a moment. “Yeah, we should ‘ave that, and it would probably work too. Enough canis lichen and toadstool for four brews will run you about a ‘undred gold.”

“I’m running low on sandalwood shavings, do you have any?” At the resulting nod he asked, “How much for a few twigs from a tree struck by lightning and a piece of a pine swallow’s eggshell?”

“Need some resistance to lightning, eh? With the sandalwood and the rest that’s another fifty gold.”

“How about if I give you the gems and the equivalent of twenty-five gold in goins. Deal?”

He narrowed his eyes. “How much of it is copper?”

Neville winced. “Only. . . seven and a half gold worth. Mostly elven mint.”

The dwarf rested his forehead on a fist and sighed. “Bring it in, let’s start countin’.”

 

 **.** **.** **.**

 

 _Schava_ left the others to their own errands and found two buyers for the gems from the chest, one a dwarven artisan who could fashion them into proper jewlery and one a human merchant who intended to sell them in Coughlin. The best price she could get was thirty dwarven bits of gold apiece. Schava was not the best at appraising gems but she knew for sure they were worth more than that.

After that she had bumped into Neville as he was stepping out of an apothecary and potion shop. He asked if she was alright with him spending her share of the copper from the chest on potion ingredients if he shared the finished potions with them. She had been curt with him, his question underlining how her own deceptions had been more than just a bit of mischief. It had been so much simpler in the glade, where no one trusted and everyone took every advantage they could. But she let him know where to go if he wanted to turn his gem into coin.

When he left she took a turn into the potion shop herself. There were a lot of unique and expensive potions that she was sure a hobbyist like Neville was not capable of making. While she was there she considered swiping a bottle or two, but with mages you can count on them having an alarm or a protection of some sort so she played it safe and bought a potion of treasure finding in exchange for four of her gems and thirty-five gold, which was almost all of her money but still left her with enough to get by until the new potion paid for itself.

Then she made her way to the inn for a drink. An hour later Neville arrived with sacks of something and his pack. He waved, then a brief conversation with the innkeep and made his way upstairs.

Some time went by. Some food and alcohol too. Schava did not mind drinking alone, but a nearby table did eventually catch her attention. Halfway across the tavern, two dwarves and a half-elf played a game of cards. They looked moderately wealthy, probably usurers or merchants.

She made her way over. With a pout and a flash of her eyes she convinced them to let her buy in with her last remaining gem. Then she frowned. “Oh, but I don’t know how to play that game. What about dice instead?” They ate it up and pulled some platinum out to match her gem.

Her ‘lucky’ dice happened to roll in her favor for the next half hour and a small pile of wealth accrued in front of her.

She managed to pass it off as a string of good luck, but when one of the dwarves started to catch on she threw a game and some of her winnings to make him feel better and bowed out. They protested, saying she had to give them a chance to win the rest of their money back. She slipped off to the bar by saying she would be right back. She did not go back, and they did not manage to find her.

About then Elyn and Rohgrin burst into the room, accompanied by three dwarves. Elyn came over to sit and watch as Rohgrin and the dwarves bonded over copious amounts of alcohol.

Elyn told Schava the story of what Rohgrin had done, makign a bet with the family fo smiths and mending the armor before midnight. Then she handed over twenty five gold, her share of the profits from the weapons and armor they had sold. They talked as Rohgrin was drooled on by his drunken new friends at the bar. Their revelry quickly morphed the story, making it more outlandish with each retelling.

One the the dwarves turned to Rohgrin and said, “You know, ‘alf elf is such a vague descripitor. What if yeer ‘alf elf an’ ‘alf dwarf?” The man shrugged at the possibility.

“I swear it’s like ‘e wove magic into the metal,” another pronounced.

“No!” Rohgrin said suddenly. They all turned to him. “There was no magic, it was sweat and labor alone that went into it.“

“Alright, no need to be offended. It was your hard work an we all know it. You don’ like magic or somethin’?”

Rohgrin mumbled something Schava could not hear, but she did not need to hear it to know. Within a few moments they were all laughing and making merriment again, but they seemed to steer away from the topic of magic after that.

When one of the short, bearded blacksmiths shouted of how Elyn had inspired the work by dancing around the forge naked and playing on her harp Schava and Elyn decided they had enough. Schava paid the innkeep for the rooms and the meal and drinks, tipped generously because she had the money, and the two went to their respective rooms. By then Schava was drunk enough to consider asking Elyn if she'd like to share a room, but not drunk enough to do it.

As she lay down to sleep, Schava took out a pyramidal glass flask full of greenish liquid with motes of gold and diamond dust and peered through it. It was the potion of treasure finding, and she was sure it would pay for itself many times over at some time in the future, yet she could not help but feel guilty. Not really to Neville, after all mages have it easy enough as it is. Not particularly to Rohgrin either, since he certainly did not earn his share of the treasure and had a whole village licking his boots anyway.

No, as she put the potion away and pulled a pillow close she felt bad about having stolen from Elyn most of all. Schava had lived most of her life destitute, scraping by one day to the next and one year to the next by stealing and tricking those around her. Elyn had never known that life, and now she was thrust into relative poverty without any preparation or even a source of good advice. It was not a life Schava would wish on anyone, but she was not about to try and save anyone from it either. Elyn would have to learn some hard lessons in the coming weeks.

Schava had only planned on staying with the group long enough to sell the loot from Erom's camp. That was what she needed from them in the first place, it was why she had not disappeared into the night while they slept in the glade two nights before. And now that Elyn had handed over her share of the gold from that loot there was nothing keeping Schava any longer.

It took Schava a long time to fall asleep that night. Flustered and confused, she found a fitful rest, a certain sorceress’s face wandering through her dreams.

 

 **.** **.** **.**

 

 _Rohgrin_ woke and immediately regretted it. His head pounded from the alcohol of the night before, his arms were limp from the effort he had put into repairing the splintmail, and his legs ached from the days of hauling a cart behind him.

He rolled to try and find that blissful lack of pain that is unconsciousness again but the floor underneath him refused to give him peace. The floorboard he put his head on creaked and he heard someone say, “Ah, yeer awake. Good. Bugger off, ‘fore I swat you for yeer vagrancy.”

The half-elf opened his eyes. He was in the inn, on the floor next to the bar. The innkeep from the night before leaned over the bar to peer down at him. Her human face did not look happy.

“Was there a. . . woman from the shadow realm here last night?” he asked blearily.

“We ran a devil worshiper out of town some nights ago. Half-orc what made pacts that gave her otherworldly powers. Killed a cleric of Pholtus she did, nothin’ more evil than tha’, but she won’ be comin’ back here. So if yeer seein’ shadow women I think you can be sure you had too much to drink. Yeer own fault, tryin’ to go cup for cup with dwarves. Now get. I’ll swat you, I mean it!” She raised a hand in warning.

He stood and the world spun around him so he immediately sat down on a stool. As she moved to swat him for real he reached to his coinpurse for a silver. “Bread please. And water.”

“So you do have coin. With everyone buyin’ you drinks last night I thought you were the world’s luckiest beggar.” She took the money with a sneer and left.

Rohgrin remembered the bet he had made with Mathok Uldar, the dwarven smith. He remembered working the forge like a madman. Then Mathok and the other Uldars brought him here to celebrate his victory, clearly impressed by his skill. Things got hazy after that. At one point Neville showed up. Elyn played a song that made little dancing lights appear in the air. People started to head off to bed.

He clearly remembered a woman in a dark cloak that looked almost like it was spun from the night itself. She had looked human, maybe half-elven, but beautiful. Like a queen, crowned and confident. She had commanded him to do something, but it did not make sense. _“When you find the stone idol, destroy it.”_ Then she had clasped his shoulder with one hand and pressed something into his palm with the other and he remembered the world spinning.

Looking down at his belt, he noticed that his file and chisel were both missing. He still had the handaxe that he had taken the night of the fire, but where his file usually sat was instead a single black key. That was what she had given him. Rohgrin reached for it but the innkeep returned just then. There was something. . . strange about it, so he decided it was better left out of sight for the moment.

He ate enough to settle his stomach a bit and tried to get some water down to alleviate the headache. While he did Elyn came down for breakfast herself, harp in hand.

“Good morning, Rohgrin. Hope you’re recovering well.”

“Ugh.”

She laughed.

“Plan on playing the harp over breakfast?”

“I’ve told you it’s a lyre a dozen times now.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t learn very quickly.”

“Clearly. So are you heading over to your new friends after this?”

“Why?”

She looked at him. “The three dwarves you got drunk with last night? They promised to help you refit Olwind’s armor, remember?”

“No, I don’t remember that,” he answered, covering his eyes with his palms. He really did not want to step back into the workshop.

“Well I’m going to go buy some things I need. You should get to the forge. They probably won’t be happy if you don’t show up.” With that, she left.

After another minute of looking at the half eaten food he pushed it away and tipped a few coppers. As he stepped out into the painfully bright sunlight he fingered the loop on his belt that usually held a chisel. A cold skeleton key met his skin, but when he pulled it out and held it up in front of him there was nothing there.

He was not sure who the woman had been or why she had given it to him, but in his hand was proof that she was real. A key carved of solid shadow that turned invisible in sunlight. As disconcerting as it was, the thought of getting rid of it caused an immediate stabbing pain in his head and drove the possibility from his mind.

Stowing it in his coinpurse so he would not lose it, he set out to find a courier.

 

 **.** **.** **.**

 

 _Elyn_ was glad to feel that the lyre seemed to be regaining some of its magic from the day before. She could feel it humming with energy, although not as much as when she had first touched it.

She set off for the village tannery, which she easily tracked down by its smell. The proprietor was a dwarven woman who looked bored behind the counter until Elyn walked in.

“Hello. I’m looking for some protection on the road ahead. A friend of mine wears hard leather armor, I was wondering if you had anything similar.”

“Yes, of course. Right this way,” the woman said, leading through to another room.

In half an hour Elyn learned how to keep good leather soft in a dry heat and tough when it started to wear. She learned how much more effective the light armor could be if it was studded with metal rivets to better catch and hold a blade, and all about the time and labor required in going the extra step. The woman made a strong case that it was the only worthwhile material for clothing in the world.

“You know, my husband knows the Uldar brothers personally. He keeps them company when they forge for him. Says they are quite miraculous craftsmen, this is the best metalwork you will find that doesn’t keep you too weighed down to even move. No reasonable person wants to walk around wearing a mountain after all. And it feels good to know your shape is well defined. Now let’s get you fitted. Off with that, we’ll have to pinch some things up I’m sure. I’m not the best with human dimensions but now that you’re here I can make it right.”

Elyn had been fitted for dresses and ball gowns countless times by her father’s entourage, but they were always someone she knew. It was odd disrobing in front of this stranger, and not even another human at that, but the dwarven woman seemed unperturbed and, in all honesty, it was a relief to finally be rid of the filthy clothes she had been trudging along in for days.

During the wait she wished she could strum her lyre. Instead she held her arms out to her sides and the dwarf did the usual tailor things; measuring, pinching parts that would be too loose, stitching, adjusting. Elyn had grown used to the tuning effect the strings had on the swirling pool of magic in her chest and without that the woman's ministrations faded into the background as she worked to keep her magic under control. It was not really a struggle, it was simply tedious as it demanded her concentration.

By the end of an hour she had been fitted to a fine set of studded black leather armor.

“I just had a thought. I have this lyre. Would it be possible to fit it with a strap so I can hang it from my shoulder? Oh! And a pack to carry things.”

“Certainly, that won’t take long at all.”

Once that was done Elyn showed the gem she had gotten from the treasure chest. She asked if it was an adequate trade for the armor and the service, and the woman accepted it. With that she folded her old clothes over her arm, slipped her riding boots back on, and stepped out into the street feeling ready to take on the world.

 

 **.** **.** **.**

 

 _Schava_ slept late. She did not get the opportunity to do so often, so she took it now.

When she did roll out of bed she gathered her things, which mostly consisted of money or weapons, and left the inn.

She did not intend to return. Whatever the nameless village she was in, it did have a port. Without much hassle she would be on her way to Arbot or Marulinople within a few hours, and she doubted she would think of her temporary traveling companions ever again.

Well, maybe the sorceress would cross her mind every so often.

On her way towards the port a man noticed her and approached. He was a wood elf as well, finely dressed and looking so much like a mark that Schava almost started to salivate. He looked her way as well and asked, “Are you looking to make some money? You seem like you can handle yourself and, well, I’m looking to have a rather dangerous problem taken care of.”

It got her to stop at the very least. “How much and how dangerous?”

“A thousand gold crowns and a manticore.”

Her heart skipped a beat. She tried not to let it show but her eyes definitely widened. She decided it would be best to say nothing and he continued.

“My name is Del Softfall. I’m a merchant, you see. I make trips through the mountains to Tuve Calfern often. The manticore roosts near this peak here,” he said, pointing towards the closest arm of the Alfum Tuves that the road disappeared around. “I can’t figure how but for some reason the dwarven merchants are not attacked. I’m not sure if they have a way of keeping it off their caravans, or else there is some secret tunnel that they use to get through the beast’s territory unscathed, but the guards. . . well, they are not about to scamper up there and kill it on my behalf. At this point it would be better to invest my remaining coin in having it destroyed than to lose another shipment to the creature.” He looked back down from the mountain to her and he looked sly. “Now, if I’m not mistaken, I saw you last night at the inn. You had a few friends with you, just came into town? A manticore is dangerous, but with some help it should not be too difficult. What do you say, a thousand crowns for a day or two’s hike?”

A thousand gold was a lot, but if she split it with the others it was only a quarter that. There was little chance of taking a larger cut without them knowing, unfortunately. But if she could get him to pay some up front she could still catch the first ship out of port and be richer for it. “A thousand crowns sounds too good to be true. How do I know you actually have it?”

The man put a hand to the coinpurse at his side. It certainly looked heavy. “I am a man of my word.”

“Five hundred now and five hundred after.”

“See, I think you can kill that creature. If I did not, I would not have asked. But there is always that chance. . . what if I give you gold in advance and you all die up on that mountain? That is coin wasted. You could not use it, being dead, and I could not use it to hire someone else to take care of this manticore problem. No, it will be a thousand upon completion or you can go on your merry way. I’m sure another group of able bodied folk will come through soon enough.”

Fuck. She considered, then said, “We’ll need to talk first. Where can we find you again?”

“There is a wonderful sailor’s den on the docks called the Guilty Cat’s Prey, about two hundred feet further down this street. I will be there for two weeks, when my next shipment of Clarion wines arrives. I expect this problem to be taken care of before I set off for Tuve Calfern with goods in tow.”

Schava rolled her eyes. “If you don’t hear from me by nightfall look for someone else.”

She left him in the street, but she did not yet go back to the inn. Instead she found an alley, put her back to a shadowy corner, and leaned into it.

When you make alleys your home you can feel at home anywhere. Two human children eyed her from the recessed doorway a few buildings away before scampering off. A darkened hole at the base of one of the stone buildings was sure to be someone’s bed come nightfall. Might even be one now but she decided not to check. There she stood, arms folded, one leg pulled up so her foot rested on the wall behind her, and she thought.

She could still just leave. She had enough to buy her way onto a ship if she wanted some comfort on the journey. Or she could bribe her way aboard as a stowaway if she decided the money could be better used wherever she wound up.

Or. . . she could go back. Stick with this band of misfits a few more days. She would have to endure Rohgrin’s idiocy and Neville’s sickening moral compass a little longer. She would get to see Elyn again.

After about ten minutes Schava stepped back out of the alley and headed towards the inn. She went to Neville’s room and found Elyn standing in the mage’s doorway, but now she was wearing black leather armor with matte metal studs in it. As Schava approached she incidentally interrupted their conversation.

“ - told me the metal bits help keep the hardened plates together as well as stopping blades. Oh, hey Schava. Like my new outfit?”

The noblewoman struck a pose, putting all her weight on her left hip and presenting a side profile to Schava. The leather armor was somewhat bulky, being full of hardened leather plates and metal, but it was pulled taught over those plates and the skin beneath it. With the harp- no, the _lyre_ that hung from one shoulder she looked like quite the worldly, dashing bard. The elven woman wondered how she ever considered getting on that ship.

Schava already was not sure how to respond, but then Elyn said, “I based it off of yours, sort of. I mean you look good too but I also really didn’t want to be wandering the roads without any sort of protection, you know? Just seemed. . . unwise. Are you alright, Schava?”

“What? Yeah. Yes, yes I am.” _Say something. Anything._ “I, uh, found us some work.”

“You did?” Elyn blinked as if she had never heard the word 'work’ before. “Alright. Uh, what is it?”

“A manticore needs killing. There’s a thousand gold in it for us.”

“A thousand gold!?” Elyn turned to look into the room, presumably at Neville. With a gesture from Schava they entered.

The first thing she noticed was the smell. It was not altogether unpleasant, but it was certainly overpowering. It was similar to blood but less metallic and. . . sweeter, somehow? Like blood and honey.

Then she saw all the glass. Beakers, vials, tubes that ran from one thing to another. There were five small flames burning, four of which had thick red liquides bubbling in them and one that had what could pass for plain boiling water if not for the arcs of blue lightning that lept from the surface to a metal ring held six centimeters above it.

One of the things Schava had learned in the woods around Sharmest was how to mix a basic poison. What would make someone sick, what would make someone dead (if you had enough of it, and it usually took an unrealistically large amount), and the fundamentals of how to safely refine the ingredients without accidentally breathing in a whiff of something toxic.

None of those fundamentals were employed here. She had the urge to run from the room as fast as possible, but Neville sat on the bed reading a book as if this was all normal.

“Did you say a thousand gold?” His brows furrowed. “We just arrived here yesterday, and we have no experience slaying monsters. Who in their right mind thinks we can kill a manticore?

“I do, for one,” she answered defensively. “It was a merchant named Del Softfall. Apparently he saw us last night at the inn.”

“Why can’t the guards take care of this. That is their function, after all.”

“He’s a wood elf merchant.”

Neville made a look that said, _Oh_. After another moment of thought he commented, “The only real question now is if we can kill it between the four of us. A thousand gold sounds fairly good for a manticore, and I can use its eyes and claws.”

“For what?” Schava did not intend for the question to be sarcastic, but it definitely came out that way. It just seemed so. . . odd. Preparing to butcher something for meat made sense to her, although she had a strict rule that the something not be capable of speech. But thinking of a beast as nothing but a collection of its component parts seemed callus and almost disrespectful to the beast.

Only slightly put off by her tone, Neville answered, “The formulea for a cat’s eye potion should still work as long as I can get a large enough spider to match the manticore’s eye, and the claws would make a good oil of sharpness. Of course we would need to use about,” he looked up and thought for a moment, “six ounces of silver and it would take a month to brew it, but the possibility is there. In all likelihood we would sell the claws to a more accomplished alchemist.”

“I’m sorry, I’m standing here in confusion instead of being clear. Neville, what are you doing in here?” she asked, gesturing around at the mess.

“Brewing potions. I said I wanted to spend some of the funds to buy ingredients, and that they would go towards the best interest of the group. You agreed to it, remember?”

“Yes, but I just didn’t think you would be so messy about it. This room is more dangerous than the manticore.”

He followed her gaze to the beakers with flecks of some unidentified matter on their sides and what looked like orange sludge at the bottom, the tubes with blackened insides, and the five bubbling vials. “Well, that is alchemy. What is the saying? ‘You have to break a few eggs to destroy a basilisk nest.’ Thank the gods we do not have to fight one of those. Quazifitation!” He waved his hand at the glassware as he said the last word and all of it was instantly clean. So easy, and yet it had sat for who knows how long until then.

The five vials continued to simmer undisturbed.

“How long will it take to finish brewing these?”

“The healing potions too thick to physically drink. They thin the longer they brew, they should be ready in another two hours or so. The one emitting sparks is basically done now. It will continue to get stronger the longer it boils but I started that one last night so at this point it would take days to improve.”

“If we do decide on hunting this manticore I want to know more about it. I’ve heard they can fly and they can bite. You know anything about them?”

“Both of those things are true, yes.” Neville said. “They also have spines on their tails, like a porcupine. They flick their tails and the spines fly off. We will need to find cover if it gets in the air, and that bow is probably your best option. I might be able to put it to sleep, but probably not. I believe they like to lure their prey and make lopsided deals so if it tries to confuse you just ignore it.”

At some point Elyn had wandered over to the table to look at the alchemistry paraphernalia. She held up what looked like a burnt stick and asked, “What is this for?”

Neville looked over. “That is a twig from a tree that has been struck by lightning, one of the ingredients for the clear potion there. I bought a little more than I needed.”

“It’s magical.”

“Mmm, not exactly. It has a certain arcane potential that can be distilled from it, yes. There is nothing specifically magical about it on its own.”

There was a really weird moment as Elyn looked with wonder at the burnt stick in her hand.

“Can I have it?”

“I. . . am not using it at the moment. Go ahead. Are you alright? Do not go all wild magic on us, because these are delicate potions in here”

Without saying anything she slid her lyre around from where it hung at her waist and plucked out a tune. It was soft and mysterious, just like Elyn herself.

 _I am so fucked,_ Schava thought.

 

 **.** **.** **.**

 

“ _Black’and!_ How are yee feelin’ this mournin’?”

Rohgrin smiled as best as he could through the pain.

“Tha’s a good lad! You fey folk like yeer merriment but you can’ process liqueur quite like a dwarf. Guts made of rocks, we ‘ave. Now, me brotherrs and I ‘ave been talkin’ and we came to a decision. The deal was that if you won you could use the forge to refit yeer armour. Problem with tha’ is, we ‘ave other work we need to do. So. We’re gunna ‘elp you refit this today, no charge, that way you don’ crowd up our workshop from now till next endweek. Sounds like a plan?”

“Definitely! Thank you. To be honest I’ve never worked with armor before. It was just nails, billets, and the bellows before. . . well, before I left.”

Mathok ran a hand through his hair. “Well that makes yesterday’s performance even more impressive. I’m sure we’ll need yeer skill with a bellows. Now let’s see here,” he said, picking up the splint armor. “Yeer not actually that tall for a ‘alf-elf so we’ll only need to make this about yey taller here.”

Rohgrin spent the next three hours alternating between forge apprentice and mannequin while the Uldar brothers worked. He could appreciate their skill. The nimble way they held their tools, the precision with which they struck metal, and their ability to work around the other parts of the armor without damaging them was each a testament to their mastery of their craft.

At some point Schava and Elyn entered the workshop, the later now adorned in black leather armor that looked extremely similar to the former’s. He was standing with the splintmail on and his arms out so the dwarves could figure out how much to extend the bracers.

“And they say women take a long time to get ready,” Schava snipped.

Elyn gave her a reproachful look before glazing over that comment with, “Schava found us a contract. Neville will be finishing some potions soon so we’re hoping to leave today. How long until your armor is ready?”

Rohgrin looked at Horace, who was the one in front of him. “About an ‘our an’ a ‘alf.”

“That long. What’s the contract?”

“There’s a manticore up the mountain that’s bothering one of the merchants who trades with Tuve Calfern. We’re to kill it.”

“Why ‘aven’ the guards taken care of tha’?” Horace asked.

“He’s a wood elf,” Schava replied coldly.

The dwarf rolled his eyes.

“Why are we risking our lives for this merchant, again?”

“Gold,” Schava said.

“How much?”

Schava looked at the dwarves carefully. “Lots. We’re all alright with it, and manticores fly so you’ll be useless anyway. Feel free to opt out. Larger shares for us.”

“Schava!” Elyn scolded. The strangest thing happened when Rohgrin saw Schava actually look repentant for once. “Meet us at the inn when you’re done.”

They left. The three dwarves continued their work and Rohgrin had some time to think about what he wanted for his future.

When the armor was finished they said, “Be sure to keep it on as much as possible. It will chafe and it will wear you out for the first few days, but you will want to know yeer armor like a second skin by the time you find yeer first fight.”

He shook each of the dwarves’ hands, exchanging soot as he did. Then he made his offer.

“I might not be the best smith, but I have shown that I can be inventive and creative. What would you say to me apprenticing under you three?”

They looked a bit taken aback, but Mathok eventually said, “You can definitely make a fine smith someday, and we would love to ‘ave you. But it’s already crowded in here as it is. Besides, what are you goin’ to do with a suit of armor in a forge? Yeer young, and yeer friends are out there lookin’ for adventure. If you can’ find any work after that manticore is taken care of, come back here and we’ll make sure you don’ starve, how about tha’?”

Rohgrin smiled. “Yeah, that sounds good. I’m glad to have met you, friends. I’ve just got one more question though.”

Mathok tilted his head curiously.

“I am rather low on coin at the moment, but I have thirty-one silver left and I can’t spend it if I’m dead. What weapon would you recommend for killing a manticore?”


	7. From The Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neville drew a small knife, walked around the incense to the glass, and pricked his finger. A drop of blood fell on the surface of glass.

_ Sangama _ sat in a high-backed booth in the Guilty Cat’s Prey when the elven thief entered. She muttered, “Athru,” and ran a finger from her forehead to her lips. She felt her skin shift and reform into the visage of Del Softfall, wood elven merchant.

In his new body he pulled his hood down and pretended to not notice her.

“Del,” he heard Schava say a few moments later, approaching his booth. “We’re taking your offer. A thousand gold on completion. We should be back within four or five days, but if we take longer how will we find you?”

“The marketplace in Tuve Calfern, of course. Or the road from here to there. But we need not see each other again for you to be paid. Here.”

He placed a sheet of parchment on the grainy wooden table and began to write. The words were of little consequence, but the magic he instilled into the parchment made it glow slightly.

It took about a minute for the persona of Del Softfall to shape the tendrils of arcane energy. When he was finished he slid it towards Schava and said, “This is a note worth a thousand gold. It will only show its value when you put a drop of blood from the slain manticore on it. As long as you do as I asked you can receive your reward from any treasury from here to Mahalangur.”

She stood there for a moment looking at the parchment, then rolled it. “But if we do kill the manticore and return before you leave, do you have the gold to pay us?”

He gave her a look and hefted his coinpurse. She nodded.

“Is there anything else you might be able to tell us that would improve our chances?”

“Unfortunately no.”

“We’ll see you soon. Make sure our gold is ready.”

Schava strode back out into the street with the arrogance of a mortal with no idea what she was getting herself into.

After another ten minutes, still wearing Del Softfall’s face to blend in, he left the Guilty Cat’s Prey. Two of the sailors got up to follow him, clearly having seen his show with the coinpurse and reacting the way mortals do. He walked calmly towards the edge of the village, slipped into an alley, and let his transformation fade from the wood elf form to her original body. There she wrapped her right hand around the red skin of her left fist and said five words in infernal.

“The Court of Erinyes Kynardor.”

She vanished with a sudden  _ pop _ of displaced air.

 

**.** **.** **.**

 

_ Neville _ handed one stoppered red vial each to Schava, Elyn, and Rohgrin and said, “Remember, do not drink it if you have an arrow sticking out of you, or if you have a broken bone, or if your leg has been cut off, or anything like that. You will feel better, but it will only delay the pain and in some cases make it much worse. Let me fix you if something like that happens. Cuts, scrapes, burns, bruises, all of those are exactly the sort of thing this potion is designed for. Major injuries will need tending  _ before _ you drink. Understood?”

Elyn smiled and nodded, the twig she had asked him for tucked behind her ear. He was curious what she wanted the thing for, it was likely that she could channel her magic in ways he either could not or was ignorant of.

Schava rolled her eyes at his instructions but otherwise took her vial without a word. Rohgrin said “Thanks” in the most monotone voice he had ever heard. Humph. And these were the people he was going to fight alongside. At least Elyn appreciated the potion.

The four of them had decided to sell the cart instead of buying a horse for it. It could never make it up the mountain anyway, and it was practically empty now that Rohgrin wore the armor they had been hauling and many of the weapons had been sold to the dwarven smiths. Elyn got them eight gold for it and everything in it that they did not take with them.

The problem of losing the cart was simple. They had to carry all their food and their bedrolls themselves, whereas before they had just thrown them on the cart.

Neville was not the strongest, but he managed to fit a few days worth of hard bread and a waterskin in his pack. The bedroll was unwieldy but it only took him a moment to figure out how to tie it to the bottom of his pack. He hefted his gear and together they started up the mountain.

It was about as much physical exertion as pulling the cart had been. Schava fared well. Rohgrin was in his splintmail but he used the spear he now carried to keep his footing on the inclining ground. Even using his staff to steady himself Neville was wheezing within an hour. He considered casting Almashibrre to make the trek easier but he knew he would need all the spells he had to fight the manticore. Elyn picked up a walking stick of her own but when she called for a break no one offered any protest.

While the others rested he took  _ An History of the Rites and Rituals of the Drox _ out to read again. He was almost done with it, but he found that he could not concentrate on it. The idea of having a familiar with which he could confide in had been rolling around his brain for a few days now, one who could assist him in his spells and pursuit of arcane knowledge. And the ritual to find one might also entice the manticore to come. This might be a good thing if they could make it fight on their terms.

He did not mention the idea as they ascended, instead he tried to keep his eyes open for anything flying above them. Schava seemed to be doing the same, which he was glad for. There was something small that glinted blue circling far above that made him nervous.

“Does anyone see that?”

They all looked up simultaneously.

“It’s pretty small. Probably a hawk or vulture.”

“I don’t know,” Rohgrin said. “It looks blue. Are manticores blue?”

“I know they have a humanoid face, the body of a lion, and dragon wings. Their tails can throw spines. I do not know what color they are.”

“Well it’s not attacking us,” Schava said. “We’ll keep an eye on it but if it was a threat we would know by now.”

Traversing the mountainside was unpleasant. Elyn’s music helped, and whenever they became particularly frustrated one of them (usually Schava) would remind the group of the thousand gold reward. That helped too.

It also gave Neville lots of time to think. He had honeysuckle and a bit of sandalwood with his alchemy ingredients. While they traveled they did find some small game that he might use as an offering, but none of it was ever close enough to kill with his poison. He considered catching one with his sleep spell or a magic bolt but, again, his spells would be needed later.

The fourth time a furry creature hopped up from the rocks to scamper away Schava shrugged her longbow off her shoulder, drew an arrow, and fired. With a lazy jog she retrieved her arrow and the gray hare she had killed.

“Nice shot,” Rohgrin said.

There was an outcropping of rock that Schava spotted that was a promising spot for a nest. As the day aged towards evening they decided to push on and it seemed Schava had led them true. With less than an hour of sunlight left they reached the outcrop. Tired and hungry, they decided to stop for supper beneath the mouth of a cave another two hundred feet up the mountain.

As Schava started cleaning her kill Neville said, “I’ll give you a silver piece for the legs and viscera of that hare.”

“Make it two and you’ve got a deal.”

While she worked he started a fire with a quick, “Ig!” He ate some hard tack and an apple, then prepared the ritual of calling a familiar as the book described. When Schava was finished she took about two thirds of the meat to the fire to cook.

“I have a plan,” he said to the others. Three heads turned to look at him. “Well, sort of a plan. It might draw the manticore out, or it might not. But I want to try it.”

“Is it a spell?” Elyn asked.

“Sort of. It will take an hour. We still have about an hour of light left. Would you all be ready to fight this thing right now?”

“Can I finish my gods damn supper first?” Schava asked.

Neville rolled his eyes and started the rite of finding a familiar. He really hoped that it would not be the manticore that responded.

 

**.** **.** **.**

 

_ Aradusili _ flew in high, lazy circles in the updrafts coming off the mountain’s western face, not even bothering to shroud herself in invisibility. She watched the four mortals with curiosity. They had entered the village, and the bearded hammer-wielders got really loud for a night. In the darkness Aradusili had flown down and rested on the roof of the house that smelled of fermentation to sleep, but she woke when horrible smells of burning, mixing magic started wafting from the mage’s room. She hunted for a few hours after that and contemplated flying back to the familiarity of her glade.

But they set off again, this time following a narrow footpath up the mountain before abandoning even that. She wished they would just stop moving so damn slow. What could they be doing now? Her Schava seemed to be leading them towards an outcrop about a mile further.

She saw that there was a cave there, and when she drew closer she caught the smell of evil. It was strong, so strong she immediately cast her most powerful spell. She went invisible and dove. Meanwhile an illusion of her continued to fly where she had been a moment ago. Aradusili found cover almost halfway down the mountainside and scanned the skies.

The faerie dragon had no idea what her Schava and the people she had fallen in with were doing heading towards such a place. Whenever anything like that had flown over her glade she had taken refuge, safe within the magic of her corner of the forest. Now Schava was going towards a place where evil ruled instead.

Every instinct told Aradusili to fly as far away as she possibly could, some primary part of her reptilian brain knowing to flee from a fight she could not win. Once she was on the ground she traded her own senses for that of her illusion, occasionally returning just to make sure nothing was sneaking up on her, never spending too much time away from her real body.

She did not want to provoke the evil, but simply keeping watch on the cave grew dull quickly. As her heart returned to a normal pace her curious and mischievous nature got the better of her. Without breaking her invisibility and still secluded in the safety of a small overhang of rock, she saw through her illusions eyes and flew it into the cave. Inside was a short passage. As the illusion flew into the darkness there was a flash of movement. Two thick projectiles passed through her, about the length of an arrow but wider around. It was frightening enough that Aradusili lost hold of the spell. Suddenly she was beneath a rock again, and visible. She faded from sight on instinct and flattened to the ground, looking up at the crescent of sky she could see.

For the next few hours she fought indecision. If she continued to keep an eye on her Schava for this journey she had embarked on that meant going towards the evil. If she left she might never again find the little elven girl whom she had watched grow into a woman in the streets and woods of Sharmest. And either way meant flying out into the quickly falling night where the evil might be waiting for her.

It was while she lay invisible beneath an outcrop of stone that Aradusili felt the Pull. It was weak. It was not focused on her. She got the feeling it was not focused at all. But still it was there. An ancient call to bargain, to forge a bond with a creature such as herself, and potentially to meet a new friend. It was a promise of food and protection in exchange for service and assistance and goodness.

It was laughable. She would never submit to some mortal. But it  _ was _ interesting, and interesting things are at least worth investigating.

And if a promise of protection felt more compelling at that moment than it would have at any point in the past four decades since Aradusili had hatched, well. . . even a faerie dragon can have a moment of weakness.

 

**.** **.** **.**

 

_ Schava _ was still eating when Neville lit a second fire. Fine, if the fire she cooked at was not good enough for him to use, let him. But the smell that it produced was wonderful, almost a real flavor of vanilla and some sort of sweet smoke.

Then he started incanting. It was low, and in a language she did not understand. She noticed that it repeated about every ten seconds.

Then she saw the hare and the glass. Schava had wondered why he wanted the viscera, but maybe he was going to magic himself a pair of boots or put it in a potion or something. Now she saw that it lay with the meat on an upthrust stone ten feet from him. Forming a line that pointed up the mountain were four things, deliberately placed. Neville sat facing the fragrant incense, his staff laid on the ground directly in front of him. Past that was one of the glass beakers she had seen earlier, upended and partially buried so the bottom formed a level surface. Lastly was the outcrop with the remains of the hare on it.

Elyn quickly found a melody that matched the repeating pattern of Neville’s words. She picked up her lyre to play so often that Schava expected it to start getting annoying, but somehow it never did. The notes swelled and fell and made dynamic an otherwise monotonous few minutes. It was beautiful. Schava quickly finished her meal, distracted all the while but furtive glances at the night sky.

Then she checked her weapons. Shortsword. Dagger. Dagger. Better dagger. Longbow. Quiver of about thirty arrows, some of which she had made that day with arrowheads she had bought from Rohgrin’s new friends before they left.

It made Schava a little less nervous to see Rohgrin going through the same process with his longsword, spear, shield, and armor. When they were ready they took up positions to either side of the mage.

Minutes passed. She scanned the sky, she looked at the hare, and did everything she could not to look towards the fire so her eyes could adjust to the darkness.

She jumped when a piece of the hare disappeared. No sound was made, a part of it just vanished. Rohgrin looked to her, then followed her gaze back to the hare. Another chunk vanished. Elyn must have picked up on what was happening because a discordant  _ twang _ interrupted her musical mantra.

Schava figured it out just as Rohgrin swung his spear around to face the invisible creature.

“Aradusili? Is that you?”

Neville stopped incanting. Schava felt eyes on her and realized she had said the words in sylvan. The mage probably could not understand her, and Elyn and Rohgrin definitely could not.

After a tense moment a familiar voice said, “It is I.” Schava sighed in relief. 

“By the gods, you scared us. We thought Neville was summoning a manticore.”

“Is that what you call the evil in the cave?”

“Schava, what are you talking to?”

She ignored both questions. In sylvan she said, “I know you love to be invisible, but you should really show yourself right now. We're a bit jumpy right now and those two have spells that could probably kill you.”

Another tense moment, then a small blue dragon with a purple crest appeared on the rock.

“That is not a manticore,” Rohgrin said in common.

Aradusili cocked her head to one side, then looked to Schava. "Don't mind him, he has to say obvious things out loud before they stick in his brain. What are you doing here?”

“The spell-wielding elf called out. He promised protection and food and asks for goodness and assistance and service. Tell him I will give him the first two, but I will never serve. I must be free to leave if I so wish.”

Schava looked to Neville and translated. Since the meaning would be distorted more from sylvan to common she turned it into Elven instead.

Neville replied, “I understand, but I do not know if that is how the ritual works. Once we are bound I do not know how to reverse it.”

Aradusili was indifferent when she heard the translation. “I will break it if I need to, that is not a concern. Let us bond.”

In response Neville drew a small knife, walked around the incense to the glass, and pricked his finger. A drop of blood fell on the surface of glass.

“You do the same and it will be done.”

Aradusili fluttered off the outcrop to the ground, then she bit her own foreleg with her teeth and held it out over the glass for a moment before stepping back.

Neville knelt down to the glass and smeared the two bloods together with the tip of his knife, then dropped the blade on the ground. He tensed. Aradusili crouched, blue and purple tail flicking.

Schava was not sure what was happening, but she drew the string of her longbow back slightly. Manticore and a thousand gold and magic be damned, if he was about to attack Aradusili he was a dead mage.

Then Neville stood straight and the faerie dragon rose to her feet in unison. He held out his arm. She flicked her tail once before leaping and gliding to clasp his stringy bicep. They looked at each other with some new understanding that was beyond Schava’s comprehension.

After a moment of this she readjusted, turning to grip his shoulder facing forward. The mage said, “Quazifitation,” and lowered his arms, sheathing his knife as he did. Then he bent to pick up his staff and immediately dislodged the almost two foot long lizard on his shoulder. She fluttered to the ground, took a running start, and flew off into the night.

“So. . . is it gone?” Rohgrin asked.

Schava saw Neville smile. Having known her so long, she knew that Aradusili never made an anticlimactic exit. Sure enough, ‘Blackhand’ had hardly finished speaking when the faerie dragon swooped past his head and was gone just as fast.

“Nope,” the mage said, a mile wide grin on his face. “She is here to stay.“

“Great,” Schava said. “Now I get to translate for the rest of my life. Wonderful.”

 

**.** **.** **.**

 

_ Neville _ could only chuckle.

“We can share each other’s thoughts now. That transcends language, do not worry about communication.”

He had never experienced another creature's mind before. He was riding a minor euphoria at the fact that he had persuaded a powerful magical creature to bond with him, but that was strongly tempered by Aradusili’s stress. The manticore’s cave was a little higher than the rock formation Schava had been steering them towards which made it far too close for comfort in the faerie dragon’s mind.

It was not that she lacked feeling for what had happened. From the scattering of thoughts and emotions he was getting she was flitting between happiness that she could continue to see Schava, to an excitement for what sort of adventures they might get into together, to trepidation as she realized they were here to fight ‘the evil,’ as she thought of it. All the while Aradusili was circling their camp and watching the sky.

Night had well and truly fallen by then, which is why the faerie dragon’s nocturnal vision saw the shadow above them first, winking out stars as it passed across them.

_ "It felt your call too. It is coming,"  _ Neville heard her say into his mind. 

“She sees it,” he told the others. They all looked up. He sensed within the faerie dragon’s thoughts that she was going to land on his shoulder but it was still jarring to feel an invisible creature there without being able to see them. This time she curled around the back of his neck and across both shoulders for more stability.

_ “We both have our own magic,” _ Aradusili said,  _ “But together we can combine those magics, and they will be all the more powerful for it.” _ She dashed through some of the things she could do. Her near-constant invisibility was breathtaking but she could not extend it to others, only herself. She also knew an assortment of other disruptive and powerful illusions. Her understanding of the magic involved was so alien, yet remarkably similar in certain ways. She went through them and focused on a particular skill she knew. A tendril of magic would extend out and make the target obey a command, but only if they understood the words being said. She could only speak sylvan. If the manticore could speak at all, it would be common or abyssal.  _ “I did not know that. Your learning from the paper-scratchings will be useful. Thank you. Now, do you think we can make my idea work?” _

_ “I believe so,” _ he answered. In return he went over what he could cast, minor tricks in comparison. He could move small objects around without needed to touch them, magically fix things, make them hot or cold or clean or taste like strawberries, and he could make a small burst of poison in the air. Then there were the spells that he had committed to memory that morning. Two attacks, one a blast of fire and the other a series of precise arcane missiles. There was the spell that could put small creatures and humanoids to sleep, which would probably not be effective if the manticore was as big as it was supposed to be. There was a defensive spell that was more reflex than anything to protect him from damage. Lastly, the spell that could make him run faster, which was useless for battle unless he needed to flee, which would likely be impossible since the manticore could fly.

All of this was communicated at the speed of thought as the shadow of the beast swooped down at them.

“Here it comes!” That was all the breath he could spare before casting his spell. "Sagitta magicae!"

 

**.** **.** **.**

 

_ Elyn _ heard Neville warn them, then shout out some magic words. She could not see the manticore.

Then everything started happening. Three silver magic bolts traced arcs across the sky, followed quickly by an arrow. Elyn saw where the arcane streaks of light hit as the monster passed between her and the stars above. She raised her left hand and drew energy up from that wellspring in her chest, forcing it up her arm to make her finger trace the path of the shadow above.

It worked, but piercing the dam that held back her power caused some of it too leak. A metaphorical drop spilled free. Sizzling with potential, completely out of her control, it rose on its own and Elyn saw a faint spectral light shaped like a kite shield hover in front of her. She noticed an emblem that shone bright through it; a kraken. She scowled.

Three spines about ten inches long shot down from the sky. One plunged halfway into the dirt, another shattered on stone, and the third struck Neville squarely in the chest. Crimson quickly spread through the cloth of his grey robes.

As her finger tracked the shadow she saw something small and shiny and blue appear, darting around the manticore like a sparrow harrying a hawk. Another arrow arched into the sky and struck the manticore. For the first time they heard it as an inhuman yowl of anger and pain cut through the night.

While her left hand still traced the path of the shadow above them Elyn took the twig she had taken from Neville earlier that day frow behind her ear and aimed it. She pulled a chunk of the magic from her chest off and channeled it up her arm. A bolt of lightning fired up at the creature, fizzled out less than halfway from the manticore, and dissipated. She was left with a smoking twig in her right hand and a jagged afterimage burnt into her vision. Somehow she felt hollow as well, as if part of the energy that usually resided in her chest was gone.

From the sky a seductive purr echoed down to them. “You think yourselves powerful enough to take me? Submit and your death will be mercifully quick. If you kill one of your pack for me I will even let you live.”

Three more silvery bolts twirled around each other as they left Neville’s staff and struck the manticore. It growled and they heard a  _ snick _ as it snapped its jaws closed. The shiny blue silhouette vanished.

“No!” Schava yelled.

A voice that seemed to emanate from Neville’s shoulder said something in that lilting voice they had heard from the small dragon creature. Neville clarified with, “She’s fine, it was an illusion!”

At that moment another volley of spines struck. Elyn felt a searing pain as one plunged through the shimmering shield that hovered above her, then through her armor, left a bloody furrow down her side, glanced off her left hip bone, and finally came to rest in the dirt by her foot with a spray of blood. At the same time Neville collapsed to the ground. Elyn saw Rohgrin hold his shield up over the mage, dropping his spear to yank the two barbed spines from the mage’s chest.

“Now you have made me angry, mortals. I will enjoy smiting the light of life from your eyes!”

Elyn heard another  _ twang _ from Schava’s bow before they all felt the ground-shuddering  _ thud _ of the manticore landing in front of them.

 

**.** **.** **.**

 

_ Rohgrin _ felt utterly useless. There were spells and arrows flying up and ten inch long spines raining from the sky and he literally could not even see the damn thing.

Neville got hit once. Rohgrin flinched in sympathy but the mage shot another spell so he must not be hurt too badly. Then he got hit again and fell like a sack of rocks. Elyn had a line of red from armpit to hip as well, he was not even sure when that had happened.

He put his shield over the elf and reached for the red vial of healing liquid he had. No, wait, he had to take the spines out first. Rohgrin yanked one and the barbs caught, tearing flesh and cloth. He removed the second as well. More blood welled up from the wounds along with a sick gurgling sound. If Neville had not been dying before he definitely was now.

The creature spoke again. “Now you've made me angry, mortals. I will enjoy chasing you when you run.”

_ Thud. _ The ground rumbled as the manticore landed right next to them. A pulse of adrenaline coursed through Rohgrin. Still holding the shield up he flicked the stopper off the potion.

The manticore pounced, biting into Rohgrin’s shield and mauling him with its front paws. The panels of metal along his armor took the brunt of the blows, but on his right side he felt the beast’s claws pierce through to reach flesh. The wood and metal of his shield held fast in the large, lion-like mouth. He barely managed to stay on his feet, but the potion flew from his grasp and landed a few feet away.

He gritted his teeth at the pain. In a split second he thought of his options. The potion was gone now, if he tried to get it he would be cut to ribbons. His sword and handaxe would be difficult to reach, his spear lay on the ground somewhere, but the creature did seem to have his shield stuck in its mouth. Looking up he saw the rows of sharp teeth that ringed the circle of metal and wood, almost wrapping around to shred his arm to ribbons.

With no weapon in hand he jumped on its face, putting his free arm around the top of the beast’s head and wrapping his legs around its neck to clamp its mouth on the shield. Almost encircling its head and completely off the ground, his weight pulled the manticore to its knees. From the new position he suddenly realized he was looking directly down into an enormous, cat-like eye.  


He heard Elyn shout “Heal!” There was a faint glow of light behind him. To his right Schava lept on its side and plunged her sword into the beast’s side.

The manticore thrashed, trying to throw him off. Its words were muffled around the shield but the rage in the one eye he could see made its wicked intent clear. Rohgrin held on for his life, its claws raking uselessly against the armor on his back. That would surely not last for long, and he hoped the others would kill it before it killed him.

A bolt of lightning struck the manticore’s flank to his left and he smelt burning hair and flesh. It writhed beneath him, and the light and heat from the bolt did not fade in an instant like it would if made from a storm. Rohgrin started to feel the slightest tingle crawl over the left side of his body. Not for the first time, he felt a resentment for magic and all who used it, and he swore in that moment that if he fried in his armor from a stray spell he would haunt the other three forever.

But his vow was for naught. The manticore bucked its head one last time, breaking his grip on it and throwing him over its back. He landed on the ground hard. Schava followed him with a grunt. He heard the flap of giant wings as it took to the air.

The beam of lightning followed it, unbreaking, illuminating the darkness, even pulsing with renewed force. In a voice layered with magic Neville commanded, “Land!” When did he get back up? The beast barely got in the air before it was compelled to return to the ground. The lightning that arced between Elyn and the creature pulsed a third time. From the ground where he had been thrown, Rohgrin saw the manticore yowl up at the night sky, then finally convulse and collapse, dead.


	8. A Myth

Elyn saw the red potion hit the ground and spill. She did not know the words of power that Neville called upon when he cast spells, but she was starting to understand that she could truly reshape the world with the power she wielded. Taking her lyre into her hands and strumming a major chord to center herself and hoping, she said, “Heal!”

Neville sat up with a rasping gulp of air. He propped himself up with his staff, then used it to hit one of the creature’s wings. Schava leapt at it from behind.

Trying her best to ignore the searing pain in her side, Elyn raised the twig again. The last bit of magic in that turbulent wellspring within her chest leapt to her whim. A single streak of lightning struck the manticore. She felt something inside her latch onto it then. The others smacked it with staffs and cut it with swords and bombarded it with silvery magic darts, but she held tight onto that connection between herself and the manticore and channeled energy into it. The arcing string of light and heat between them pulsed. The place where it connected to the beast, that white-hot tree made of pure energy, crawled like malevolent roots towards its head where Rohgrin was clamped around its snout. She pulled the lighting, bending it to her will away from her friend.

Then with a mighty shake of its head it bucked Rohgrin and dislodged Schava. It flapped twice and ran. Elyn felt a spell coalesce around Neville and the little dragon and he yelled, “Land!”

It did, just as her sparking line of energy was stretching to its limit. With everything she had left, it surged a final time.

Elyn felt the connection snap as the manticore suddenly died. She somehow knew that its heart had exploded from the lightning she had forced into it. It was over.

She saw Rohgrin stand up and look around, blurred by the streaks of white that remained burned into her retinas. She saw crimson covering his body as well, but her muscles were starting to seize as her own lifeblood spilled from the gash in her side.

Taking the spilled healing potion from the ground where it had fallen, she drank what little was left in the vial in three quick gulps. It was thicker than water, but not by much, and tasted metallic. She really hoped she was not drinking blood.

The gaping wound down her side immediately stopped bleeding and she had the horrid, itchy feeling as her flesh started to knit itself back together. The new seam cut in her leather armor still gaped. Through it she saw new pink skin. The wound was closed and looked a few days into its journey to being a scar. It hurt, but it was an ache and an irritating itch instead of the searing pain from a moment before.

 

**.** **.** **.**

 

Aradusili landed on Neville’s shoulders and snaked her head around to his chest. There was a lot of blood, and the two holes in his chest were now little depressions about as deep as one of her talons. Angry red skin stretched where the damage had been, just barely keeping them closed. She looked up at his eyes with her eyes and into his mind with her mind. He was in pain still, but the spell that the human magic-wielder cast on him must have done its job.

_ “It is somewhat disheartening that you almost died within an hour of our bond,” _ she said. With no barrier between them she made sure he felt her disapproval. 

_ “I am sorry. It was not fun for me, either. Thanks for saving me.” _

_ “I did not save you, I made sure the evil one did not escape to spread its malice in the world any more. The one that saved you is also hurt. You should tend to her, after you heal yourself.” _

“Ig!” he commanded, restarting the campfire that had been stomped out by the thrashing manticore. “Elyn, Rohgrin, Schava, are you alright?” he asked, preparing to deal with the aftermath of the battle.

Aradusili had little patience for that and leapt from his shoulder. She circled the mortals’ camp, checking to make sure nothing else was about to attack them in their moment of weakness. Sure enough, there was a mountain lion watching from a rock half a mile away, probably attracted by the smell of blood. Or maybe it felt some kinship with its monstrous feline brethren. Aradusili was simply glad this one did not have wings. She scared it off by conjuring the growl of a dragon much larger than herself. The ruse worked.

In her flight, she could not help but notice the cave. It was about twenty feet wide at the mouth but narrowed as it twisted into darkness. She no longer felt strong evil in the cave, only the lingering stench of death. She wondered what sorts of treasures a creature like that might keep in its lair.

_ “I think it would be better not to venture out alone,” _ Neville thought to her.

_ “I have been alone for a long time, mage.” _

_ “And now you do not have to be. It would be safer to search it in the morning, with the rest of us.” _

She did not think it back at him, rather it crossed her mind that if she got there first she would have first pick of the loot. He still picked up on it, and a slow sense of uncertainty rose in him about how little he knew her.

She grinned a toothy grin despite being hundreds of feet away and invisible.  _ “Goodness was part of our deal. I could not have agreed to it dishonestly, your magic would have prevented it. But with me around, mage, your life is going to be a lot less. . . orderly.” _

 

**.** **.** **.**

 

Schava lay where the manticore had thrown her, more dazed than hurt. After the rush of the fight it felt good to simply be. She had survived.

After a few minutes she stood with a bit of difficulty to look around the camp. Neville tended to Rohgrin to stop his bleeding. Elyn sat near them with her left arm raised above her head and a mostly healed wound that ran down her side. If the tear and bloodstains in her armor was anything to go by it had been large and painful.

Elyn caught her looking. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” she answered, holding the thigh she had fallen on when the manticore threw her.

“You look like you’re in pain. I seem to have some small amount of healing magic, but I’m spent right now. Did you drink your potion?”

“No, no it’s just a bruise. It will be sore for a few days and then I’ll be fine. Nice job getting Neville back up. And that thing with the lightning too, by the way. I barely hit the damn thing,” she added, gesturing to the longbow she had tossed to the ground. She was trying to look anywhere but the rend in Elyn's armor. “If not for you and goldilocks with those silver darts he was throwing I don’t think we would have succeeded.”

“Well I can see two arrows still in it,” Elyn countered, looking at the body. “Want to take a closer look?”

“I want some trophies, is what I want.”

Elyn smiled at her for that and they approached the beast. The first thing was the smell. She had caught whiffs during the fight but now that things were not happening at lightning speed the manticore's horrendous smell had the opportunity to overpower their senses. It did not help that a pile of watery, bloody shit larger than Aradusili lay at the back end of it.

She saw Elyn almost gag, but when she stepped closer to the manticore’s head the human woman followed. Schava was finding it increasingly difficult to think of Elyn as the hapless nobleman’s daughter she had robbed those short few days ago.

Taking the leaf styled dagger out, Schava stabbed the carcass. Then she withdrew the blank parchment that Del had given her and dripped some of the blood from the dagger on to the contract. She watched as the blood started to magically creep up the page to form letters. It was incredibly slow so she set it on a nearby ledge, put a rock on it so it would not blow away, and stepped back to their kill.

First she used the bloody dagger to pry the teeth from its mouth.

Unexpectedly, she heard music. “Cut apart that giant cat. Skin its hide to make a hat.”

Schava laughed, not looking away from what she was doing. “The fuck? Did you really just write a song about this?”

“Well, a line, yeah. I thought it would help.”

“It made this less unpleasant, so yeah I would say it did,” Schava said as she pulled six sharp teeth from the creature's mouth. Some of them were chipped or broken, probably from trying to get its mouth out from around Rohgrin’s shield.

“Hey mage, what parts of this thing did you want for your potions again?

“The claws are most valuable!” he called from where he had Rohgrin laid out on a bedroll. “As in fifty gold each valuable. If you can get the eyes out without squishing them I can use those too.”

“Is there any way I can help?” Elyn asked.

“Hold these for now,” she said as she handed Elyn the teeth. “Also if you could make it smell better. Or at the very least distract me from how bad it is”

She continued with the claws and managed to get five of them. Like the teeth, some had broken in the fight. Her two arrows sticking out of the hide had broken as well and she could not get the arrowheads out of the tough hide to reuse them. Continuing on to the eyes she tried to slide the tip of her dagger behind them to pop them out. Both ended up scrambled. Finally she approached the source of the stench and tried to dislodge a few of the tail spines. She accidentally cut her hand on one, and only made it away with four before the smell became too much for her.

They returned to the center of the camp and found Rohgrin sitting up, his waterskin by his side. Fresh bandages covered his lower back and the armor was removed from his right leg.

“Alright, who’s next?” Neville asked.

“I’ve got a nice bruise on my ass that I’m sure you’d love to get your hands on. You’ll have to offer me more than some honeysuckle candles and a rabbit though.”

“I am thoroughly uninterested. Aradusili is going to make you pay for that when she gets back though.”

She scoffed. “Wow, way to make a girl feel special. And you have a lot to learn about her if you think she’ll be happy that you ruined the surprise.”

“Neville,” Elyn said. “Rohgrin’s potion did keep me from bleeding to death, but. . .” She looked to the jagged line that ran down the side of her armor.

“Quazifitation!” he said, waving his hand. The dried blood disintegrated into dust. Then he took out his two loadstones. “I can fix your armor, but I'll have to touch you with these, is that alright?"

“Oh just do it already,” Elyn said, raising her arm. Schava felt wrong for staring at the rend and dragged her eyes up to the human's face, where a blush was spreading.

Then the flutters in her stomach soured as he put the loadstones to the armor on either side of the cut, which was just beneath Elyn’s left breast. Schava gritted her teeth as a mix of jealousy and embarrassment washed over her.

Neville chanted, “Lechi,” and over the course of about a minute the leather neatly molded itself back together.

“Thanks,” Elyn said when it was done. “You have to teach me how to do that.”

Schava realized then that she was staring again so she quickly averted her eyes.

Looking for any excuse to move past what she had seen, she went to retrieve the contract that Del Softfall had given her. The manticore blood had snaked its way up the parchment by then to form letters in the common tongue, and looking it over she read:

 

_ I am pleased to inform you of the deception you have been subject to. Should you succeed in slaying the manticore there is no gold waiting for you here in the Guilty Cat’s Prey, and I will be long gone by the time you read this. Nor will any treasury honor our agreement. However, a reward beyond your imagination is available in the caves and tunnels beneath the manticore’s nest, should you wish to take it for yourselves. _

 

_ Sincerely, the one you know as Del Softfall _

 

“Fuck!”

“What?” Elyn and Rohgrin asked at the same time.

“We’ve been cheated!” she yelled, throwing the parchment.

Elyn picked it up and read it herself, Rohgrin looking over her shoulder. “Well shit.”

The sorceress handed it to Neville and asked, “So, are we going to look for this ‘reward’ he mentions?”

“It could be a trap,” Rohgrin said.

“A trap for what? Our potions? We don’t have much coin anymore, we spent it all. Remember?” Schava snapped.

Neville looked up from the parchment and said, “What if it is just as it seems? A merchant was getting attacked by a manticore. The manticore took his wares when it attacked his caravan. Instead of paying us the greedy bastard decided that the wares he lost were a worthy payment. We should find something of value in the manticore’s nest.”

As her anger cooled Schava was filled with chagrin. She had brought the others to the mouth of a manticore lair and had them risk their lives for nothing. She found herself looking at Elyn, who was lost in thought. Then the woman smiled and said, “Well even if we don’t find any coin in the nest, at least you found a new friend, Neville. Where is- um, how do you pronounce her name exactly?”

“Ar-a-du-si-li,” he said slowly, before sighing. “Unfortunately we do not agree on all things. She is currently in the manticore’s lair making sure she gets first look at the loot.”

“‘Attagirl,” Schava laughed. She wondered if it would be worth drinking her potion of treasure finding in the lair. If the manticore had less treasure than the potion was worth she would be wasting it, but it might be worth a shot.

Then she stopped, just as Neville cocked his head to one side. He and Aradusili now had some sort of mind link. Aradusili had seen her take the gems and gold from Erom's treasure, taking a cut off the top before sharing just like the flying rat likely was doing at that very moment.

“You little thief,” Neville said, his tone more offended than angry. “I knew there was something off about you.”

It felt like her heart dropped into her stomach and  _ then _ started beating wildly. “Uh, I can explain.”

“Oh, please do so. Aradusili is also of the opinion that this is all just playful fun, so I am honestly curious. Please explain to us how what you did was not abjectly selfish.”

“I- I needed the money because. . . there are  _ people _ , and if I don’t get that money to them it will be Very Bad.”

He narrowed his eyes for a moment. “She is trying to lie for you, I hope you know that. It is not really possible to do when connected to another’s mind, but she is trying. That does not change the fact that all the people evil enough to come after you to collect a debt died the day we met. Erom, Phillaness, Bornael.” As he said it his eyes widened.

Those names sparked an anger in Schava, but before she could vent any of it Elyn said, “Will everyone calm down for a second and tell us what is going on?”

Neville did not respond. His left eye twitched, then his shoulders hunched forward the way they do just before someone vomits. He held it in but said no more, averting his gaze. Good. It seemed Aradusili had filled him in on the reasons why he would die if he ever said those names to her again.

Looking at Elyn and Rohgrin (but mostly Elyn), the ernest confusion on her face wracked Schava with guilt in a way she had rarely felt before. Her vision actually started to blur. Was she crying? She blinked that away quickly.

“You remember when I opened that chest full of coins in front of you?” They nodded. “I had actually opened it an hour or so before that and skimmed most of the gems and gold.”

Rohgrin cursed her. She did not catch what it was exactly, she was looking too intently at Elyn’s face. The human girl frowned and looked away, thinking. Not the worst thing she could have done. All was not lost, then.

Coming to a decision, Schava found her coinpurse and withdrew twelve of the thirteen platinum bits she had won gambling the night before, as well as half of the gold from her quarter of the loot they had sold. “I don’t have the gems anymore but I do have these. It’s about. . . half the value of the gems I took.” She divided them into three piles, four platinum and four gold in each.

Rohgrin said, “I knew it was weird that you shared that treasure with us. I thought for sure you would try to convince us you deserved a larger cut. Figures you would take the negotiation into your own hands. But it's settled now,” he added as he took the coins and shrugged. No hard feelings there. Or at least he already knew she would do something like this.

Neville took them and then looked her in the eye. “I am sorry for what I said. I did not know.” His sincerity was stark compared to the judgement he had expressed just a minute before. That was good, Aradusili had definitely gotten through.

Schava looked at Elyn. The girl gave her a soft smile of forgiveness and took the eight bits of metal. It pulled at her insides. Schava bite her lip.

“Wait! There’s. . . more.” Reaching into her pack Schava produced a second coinpurse, this one of a fine vellum and embroidered with the emblem of a kraken on a red sea. “I’m not sure if you remember, but that first night we met was not by accident. I had heard that a noble family was in town. Thought I might be able to sneak into one of your rooms, or maybe the carriages. Then you came downstairs. Your guard left you to get another drink and I figured that was my opportunity. I. . . cut your purse strings and left.”

Elyn’s smile vanished. Schava held the bag of coins out to her and she slowly took it. The silence started to stretch.

“Elyn, I am so sorry. I didn’t know that all this would happen, or that we would still be traveling together - ”

“But if ‘all this’ had not happened, you would have just been on your way? If we did not end up traveling together you would have just left me to my fate?”

Schava would not lie to her anymore, but she did not want to say the truth either. She could not tell her she had almost boarded the first ship out of port. So she stayed silent. Her raw fear and regret shied away from Elyn’s cold anger. She threw walls up around herself as fast as she could.

“This sack of coins is everything I had when I ran from Olwind and my father. The only chance of making it in the world without the Settaque name and inheritance to get me by. And when I reached for it to pay that brigand in the bloody glade, to buy a roof to sleep under for that first night on my own, it was  _ gone _ .” Elyn threw the coinpurse at Schava. It struck her leather armor without much force, but it hurt far more than the physical blow when Elyn spat, “Take it if it means that much to you.”

 

**.** **.** **.**

 

Rohgrin watched as the human woman stomped off, then Neville stood as well looking worried.

“I. . . I’ll go after her, see if I can calm her down.”

With that, he and Schava were left alone.

The minutes dragged on but neither of them spoke or went to sleep. Eventually Rohgrin said, “Want to spar? It’ll take your mind off it. And, well, I think it’s clear from the fight with the manticore that I could use some practice.”

She huffed a laugh. “You pulled that thing to the ground, Rohgrin. With your bare hands.”

“That sounds a little unbelievable to me, Schava. A wise man once told me to temper my tales, else no one would ever trust me enough to put their truth in me. You might learn something from that advice.”

“Sounds like someone who has never cheated at dice. Besides, I’m still sore from the fight. Thanks though.”

The silence was more comfortable this time. They both left it unbroken as they followed their own thoughts. Eventually Rohgrin turned his head from the dancing flames to the darkness where Elyn and Neville had gone beyond their line of sight.

“Do you ever want what they have?”

“You think they’re fucking? I mean yeah he was getting handsy but I thought they just met a few days ago.”

He made a face at her. “No. The magic. Being able to just will things to be, to bend the world to your whims. Your armor is shredded? Now it isn’t. Got a hole in your gut? Now you don’t. It’s so. . .” Rohgrin had been about to say ‘powerful’ but instead settled on, “unfair. It leaves us simple folk to their mercy. I can swing a sword and put a shield between myself and an arrow, but that doesn’t stop magic darts that avoid or pierce everything in their way. Why shoot a bow when you can cast lightning from your hands? You know what I’m saying right?”

“Eh, you make them out to be more than they are. Mages and. . . whatever she is have their own weaknesses. All spellcasters do. There was a druid who stayed at the glen once. Made a pass at me. A knife at the back of their neck and they’ll back off, same as anyone else.” She was looking in the direction of the darkness now too. “I just hope she can do the same when she needs to. Mage better keep his hands to himself. I should go check on them.”

“Schava, where are you getting that idea from?”

“She is clearly distraught right now. Alone. Easy to take advantage of. She needs someone to protect her. Maybe she’ll forgive me if I get that git away from her - “

Realization hit him then. “You’re jealous. I was wondering why Elyn’s sob story hit you so hard. I mean clearly you don’t give a fuck about me or Goldilocks, and I can’t really blame you for that, but with her it’s different. That’s why”

“Oh, I’m so sorry you two but while you were gone Rohgrin  _ died from his wounds _ .”

“Alright, let’s think about this. How long have you known Arada- uh, the dragon thing that the mage summoned.”

“Her name is Aradusili, and I know her rather well. Three decades or so.”

“She is in the mage’s head, and he is in her’s, right? From what I know of dragons, they are either good or bad. My read of her is that she likes to mess around, cause people to make fools of themselves, but she’s one of the good ones. There is no chance she would let Goldilocks, you know, do something fucked up like that.”

Schava glared at him. “That is. . . the only time I have ever seen you use logic.”

That stung so he shot back, “Yes, well, I’m sure you would have thought of it too if you were thinking with your head and not what's between your legs.”

At this he saw the wood elf look away. A woman he had seen slit the throat of an enemy without hesitation, someone who had apparently robbed a noble blind and had known a faerie dragon for three decades, and she was  _ blushing _ . They had shared more than a few intimate moments when they had both called Sharmest home and he had never once seen her blush.

“Hey, don’t get me wrong, I can understand where you’re coming from. I mean it’s no secret how half-elves like me are made but - “

“Rohgrin,” she interrupted him again. “If you wish to keep your tongue, you will shut up now and not mention this to anyone.”

He rolled his eyes at her constant not-so-empty threats, but he fell silent nonetheless.

More time went by. Rohgrin wondered what Neville was actually saying to Elyn. Probably attempting to calm her so she did not blow up a forge. Or more likely a wood elf this time.

He also wondered at what he had learned about Schava. It. . . stung, the look he saw on her face. The minutes ticked away as he stewed on that. If the two magic wielders had returned then he likely never would have built up the courage to ask, but that pain festered for long enough that he could not help but try to lance it.

“Did you ever look at me that way? When we. . . when I first arrived in Sharmest?”

She turned to him and gave him a soft, sad frown. It was all he needed as answer, but she said it anyway.

“No.”

The silence was painful after that.

When Elyn and Neville returned, the sorceress immediately unfurled her bedroll and went to sleep. Neville gave them a shrug; it was clear she did not want to talk about what had happened. It was late, and the fight had tired them all beyond their limits. The rest followed Elyn’s example.

Rohgrin did not sleep well that night. His dreams were filled with the flashing claws and teeth of a cat with wings, and walls of fire that shot up in front of him, and the silhouette of a shadow woman with reptilian wings protruding from her back.

In his dream he turned to run and was blocked again as another wall of fire rose before him. Through the flames he saw a new being, and he froze in fear. Unable to move a muscle, he watched as the entity stepped through the flames towards him. He could see it clearly in the light of the fire, clad in black platemail with large feathered wings and a flicking, impatient tail. Its face was concealed behind a visor of metal but he heard something, as if from far away.

It reached a hand forward, touched his shoulder, and in Elyn’s voice it said, “Wake up Rohgrin, we’re going to search the cave.”

He gasped and scrambled away from the touch as his eyes opened. He looked around and was again on a mountainside, Elyn, Neville, and Schava around him.

“Sorry,” Eyn said, standing from where she had knelt to wake him. “I didn’t mean to startle you, but we’re ready to go.” Indeed, Neville and Schava had their packs in hand and were looking on at the two of them.

Neville said, “Aradusili found the manticore’s nest and she says the cave goes further into the mountain from there. We thought we should pick up anything of value before we head back.”

“Yeah, alright. Just give me a second.”

“We’ve already given you ten minutes,” Schava said.

He scowled and set about stowing his bedroll. In that time he tried to get a grip on what he had seen in his dream. He was not particularly superstitious, but the shadow woman had definitely given him a real magic key. He had no idea what it was for but now she appeared in his dream with what was clearly a fiend of some sort. Either this was real or he was going mad, and both of those options terrified Rohgrin.

Still, he packed up and put his armor on as if nothing was the matter. The others chatted, Schava more irritable than the rest as always. There was a new coldness towards her from Elyn now, though, and Rohgrin could not help but feel like she deserved it. When he was done he followed as they all ascended the hundred feet to the mouth of the manticore’s lair.

There was a constant whistling from the cave. Neville muttered a word and a candle-sized flame appeared in his hand. It tilted and sputtered in the cold breeze that emanated from the darkness and hardly provided any light.

“Here, let me try,” Elyn said. She closed her eyes for a moment, then said, “Light!” One after another, four glowing orbs emerged from her chest. She opened her eyes and smiled, then looked around at them all. Each werelight floated to a spot above their heads and hovered there.

Rohgrin’s jealousy was hard to bite down. He almost said,  _ I wish I had brought a torch _ , but the look of pain he knew it would entice from Elyn stopped him.

The light reflected like stars off the glistening cave walls. The cave narrowed as it recessed into the mountainside and turned out of sight about forty feet away.

Elyn was the first to step out of the sunlight and into the darkness.

The cave narrowed to about five feet wide and just tall enough to stand before it started to turn and slope downward. The walls were covered in large claw marks here that had chipped the stone.

“Schava?” Neville asked. “Did you get any of the manticore’s claws?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I see one?” he asked, pointing to the rends in the stone.

She fished one from her pack and put it up to the wall. It was about half the size of the mark.

“What do you think could have made those?” Rohgrin asked. When no one answered he added, “Guys, we barely survived the manticore. What are we getting into here?” 

The furrows in the stone ended soon after, as if something had been trying to claw its way into the narrow cave. Elyn pointed out as much and added, “It looks like it’s safer inside than out.”

Rohgrin did not want to follow her, and he got the distinct feeling he was not the only one, but as the human disappeared around a bend they all followed anyway. They smelled the cavern before they came to it, a rotting stench that reminded him strongly of when he wrestled the manticore the night before. The room expanded to twenty feet wide and arched above their heads enough to be comfortable again. Along the left side there was a ledge halfway up the wall and a jumble of sticks could be seen. At the other end of the cavern was another narrow passage that disappeared into black.

“This - ” Elyn said before immediately stopping, her voice echoing of the walls half a dozen times. Whispering, she continued, “This ledge must be the nest.” It carried as if they were in a chapel full of praying worshipers.

“So who’s going to check the nest?” Rohgrin asked.

“Well don’t you all volunteer at once,” Schava said softly as she walked over to the ledge. With deft movements she quickly scaled the embankment and stood among the debris. They could hear her rooting around.

“What did you find?” Elyn asked.

“Piles and piles of gold and artwork from Marulinople.”

“Really?” Rohgrin asked. Excitement coursed through him.

“No! There’s bones and stink and shit and that’s it. This was- hold on. Actually, I think I see an egg.”

Neville nudged Rohgrin’s armor with his elbow. He looked and the mage’s blue and purple lizard lay across his shoulders. He was smiling and pointed at the creature, which was bobbing its head up and down.

He realized it was silently laughing just as he heard Schava whisper, “Aradusili, I am going to fucking kill you.”

A light giggling filled the cavern, right on the border between whimsical and manic. The creature on Neville’s shoulder immediately vanished.

Schava swept down off the ledge, holding a hand out away from her. She strode right up to Neville, put her hand practically in his face, and said, “Your dragon, your responsibility. Clean it.”

With a laugh that was only partially undercut by the manticore shit in his face, he said “Quazifitation” and waved his hand. Schava’s hand was instantly clean.

She looked around the cave wildly and said, “When I get ahold of you, you little. . .” before trailing off into what sounded like curses in sylvan.

From the far side of the cave Elyn said, “Hey, let’s see what’s down this way.”

“Why? There is no treasure, let’s get out of here before something eats us.”

“But look it’s. . . there’s stonework in there. It’s not all natural cave. Imagine what might be down there. Who built it? Why? Is it abandoned, and if not do they know there’s a manticore nesting in their doorway? Have they been trapped in there?”

Her words started to stir Rohgrin's curiosity, but Schava was not having it. She shivered slightly in the chill of the caves and said, “We’re in the Alfum Tuves, so dwarves built it. They abandoned it, and anything that has moved in will try to eat us.”

“I’m not convinced of that.”

Goldilocks spoke his piece then. “Schava, those ruins might hold interesting knowledge. The last expedition I was on with the University at Mannadale we found hundreds of ancient scroll cases, all magically sealed. They could be great magical secrets, and scholars and wizards from across the world wanted to see them.” When she failed to look impressed he added, “Tens of thousands of marks worth of ancient texts that rich people wanted to get their hands on.”

“Shall we put it to a vote?” Elyn asked. When no one responded she continued, “Everyone who wants to continue raise your hand.”

Neville and Elyn raised their hands. A third materialised in the air in the center of the cave, which was really unsettling but Rohgrin assumed it was Goldilocks’s new shoulder-sitting friend. He looked at Schava, then at Elyn. He slowly raised his hand. “Fine,” Schava relented.

“Alright, let’s go,” the sorceress said and set off down the tunnel.

They followed her, the damp stone making it a little difficult. Rohgrin used his spear to keep him steady on the way down.

Before too long the left side of the natural cavern met a worked stone wall at a sharp angle. The tunnel ran along the wall, growing narrower and narrower, before they came to a place where the stone had fallen inwards. The natural cave continued past the breach and veered upwards into darkness, too tight to get through.

They had to carefully climb over the rubble of the collapsed wall but other than that the passage looked clear in both directions. The first thing Rohgrin noticed was the claw marks. Large furrows raked the inside of the stone walls but did not extend into the natural caverns. The corridor was lined with sconces and torches every twenty feet but none of them were lit. To the left it kept going out of sight and to the right it turned away from the natural cave about twenty feet away. If he had to guess he would say that the stonework was dwarven. It fit together very closely, with very narrow seams between the blocks and no mortar.

“Are those the same claw marks as the ones on the way in?”

They were big, it certainly looked like the gouges for before. The explorers let that hang in the air but no one had any further insight. Instead, Neville said, “If we are going to be mapping out unknown areas, the rule of thumb is to always take the same turn when you come to a branch. If you always take left going in, then turning around and taking every right will get you back out, and vice versa.”

“Alright. We take every left,” Elyn said, leading down the passage in that direction. 

From the echoing off the stonework Rohgrin’s armor was extremely noticeable. The parallel splints of metal clinked together and rubbed against one another.

“Shhh!” Schava whispered angrily.

“Sorry.”

“Next time we do this I’m stuffing rags in your armor.”

They did not see any doors along the corridor until they came to the end. It was an unceremonious wooden door that looked quite rotted. Elyn stopped in front of it for a moment, then tried the handle. It turned with a rusty  _ squeeeeak _ but did not budge.

“It’s stuck.”

“I can give it a try,” he said. She stood aside and he put his shoulder to the ancient wood planks. He push and the center of the door buckled inwards. “Huh. That wasn’t what I was going for, but. . .” He stepped back and threw himself at the split. Most of the door fell inwards with a  _ crash _ , Rohgrin atop the remains.

“Well I’m glad we’re keeping quiet!” Schava seethed.

“Oh stop complaining, this place has been abandoned for centuries.”

Looking around, the room through the door was oddly not rectangular. The center portion that he had fallen into was about twenty five feet on a side and fifteen feet tall, but across from him was a shorter recess enclosing a stone slab, and to the right was a similar recess with two archways that led elsewhere. One was on the same wall as the door they had entered, the other was on the adjoining wall and barred with a metal grid that came down through the ceiling.

“Woah,” he heard Neville say behind him.

 

**.** **.** **.**

 

Neville entered behind Elyn and Rohgrin. They went right and straight, respectively, so he went left. At first the left wall looked like ordinary stone, but as he got close enough for the light above his head to illuminate it he saw that a large portion of the wall was covered with a tapestry. Along the bottom ran a line of giant script weaved in gold thread. It depicted an epic battle in its faded dyes and glints of silver and gold, but not a battle of mortals.

“Woah.” The still healing wounds in his chest ached at the sound but he hardly noticed.

The area closest to the door showed an ocean, as if the water was behind the dyes and would spill through at any moment. In the murky depths were shapes of kraken and huge turtles outlined in gold. But there were stranger things as well, giant crabs with spidery eyes and fish-like things with circular mouths that had bodies which split into tentacles.

Walking along, the ocean gave way to plains and forests where sphinxes and giants and enormous snakes roamed. Dwarfed by these were bears and herds of centaurs. The sphinxes were gold trimmed as well.

The next quarter was dedicated to a mountain range populated with griffons and drakes. Larger than them were dragons in gold and massive eagles of comparable size in silver. Below the peaks were tunnels and caverns with little tentacle-faced humanoids that clustered together in groups and large insectoid things that Neville had no reference for.

At the very end of the tapestry the peaks of the mountains rose off the top of the canvas and the caves beneath them ended. While the rest of the world fought, dragon against eagle and turtle against kraken and sphinx against snake, a gargantuan creature larger than them all lay curled and asleep beneath the world. Its carapace was lined with spikes a long as one of the drakes. Its mouth lolled open wide enough to swallow an owlbear whole. He looked closer and recognized the similarity between the material the behemoth was lined with and the coins Schava had given them the night before. This creature was stitched in cloth of platinum. The myth of the Tarrasque.

Schava broke his reverence by asking, “How much do you think it’s worth?”

“How would we carry it?” he heard Rohgrin ask in response. “Have you ever tried to carry a rug? We wouldn’t get it out of the cave, let alone down the mountain.”

Neville paid them little head. He withdrew his ink and quill along with parchment and, using his spellbook as a flat surface, he looked from the creature at the end of the tapestry to parchment and back again, trying to copy it exactly.

The others moved on to the rest of the room. He heard Rohgrin say, “We’ve got a sarca- uh, there’s a tomb over here.”

He glanced up. A stone sarcophagus lay in a recess opposite the door they had entered. “Don’t touch it.”

“No shit.”

“There are two more rooms here, but one of them is barred,” Elyn said.

He heard Schava say, “This room looks bigger. There’s a mosaic on the - I heard something!”

At that exact moment Araduslil shouted,  _ “Something evil is coming!” _ into his mind.

Neville put the ink, quill, and parchment in the closest corner. Turning around he saw Rohgrin backing away from the sarcophagus, Elyn peering through a metal grate blocking one archway, and Schava backing into the room from the open archway that led to the next room. That room had the slightest hint of light along one wall.

_ “Not as powerful as the manticore, but more of them.” _

_ “How many?” _ He asked.

_ “I do not know.” _

_ “Fight or run?” _

_ “No time to run, they are already here _ ,” she said and swooped through the archway to meet the creatures.

There was a dazzling blast of lights from the room and he heard shrill, fiendish screams.

Quick as an arrow Aradusili was back in the room. Neville opened his spellbook quickly just to make sure he knew what he wanted to do. It was a spell he had never cast before, but he felt he had enough control over magic now that he could pull it off.

“Rohgrin!” The man looked at him. “Do you trust me?” He only got a stare in response but there was no time to explain. Neville pulled a dash of iron power from his satchel, slapped Rohgrin on the back with it, and shouted, “Vaxa!”

The half-elf started to grow, armor and weapons along with him. Within two seconds he was twice as tall as usual. Neville got a wild look from Rohgrin for what he had done, but the newly made giant lurched towards the archway anyway. The half-elf put his now massive shield to block the archway and leveled his spear to stab the first thing he saw.

Schava had her bow drawn and aimed around Rohgrin as well.

A small red creature with batlike wings and a long spike of a nose almost as long as its arms flapped into view. Schava’s longbow sang but the arrow glanced the rim of Rohgrin’s shield as it went by and missed its mark. Rohgrin plunged his spear through the creature. It looked almost made of red mud as its flesh oozed around the spear tip. The wood burst into flame.

Angry, the fiendish creature spat a gout of fire. A flash of light burned from around the rim of the shield but as it started to glow red Rohgrin did not flinch.

Elyn pulled her lyre from her side then and began to sing a clearly improvised tune Nevertheless Neville felt her channeling magic into the words.

“Rohgrin stab that evil red thing. Turn it into a little dead thing!”

The lights above their heads winked out. In the sudden darkness another being filled the space in front of the shield, pushing the red one to the side. It looked like it consisted of corporeal steam. It let out a blast at Rohgrin, the same as the last one did, with little effect.

Aradusili landed on his shoulder and said,  _ “There are two more behind those. I blinded them but it will not last long. All I can do now is help you focus your magic.” _ He felt the slight drain of arcane energy lessen as she took control of the spell that was keeping Rohgrin enlarged.

Seeing the fiends, he pulled up his arcane power and sculpted it into three magic darts that he sent through the gap between the wall and Rohgrin’s shield. 

Rohgrin thrust the ballista-sized spear again, piercing through both the creatures in front of him. The first lost its shape and splattered everywhere from the force of the blow in globs of molten rock. The second creature swirled around the tip of the spear, losing some of its cohesion but staying aloft. He realized they must be elementals of some sort.

Another arrow from Schava hit the creature through its oblong nose and it exploded in a rush of hot steam that Neville could feel twenty feet away. Rohgrin’s shield was aflame by this point and the metal of his armor was glowing and smoking.

“Heal!” he heard Elyn yell with a chord.

Next came a creature made of black smoke, contrasting sharply with the white steam of the previous one. It lashed out with an arm. A  _ screech _ rang through his ears, like metal against metal.

Suddenly something jumped up from the floor from within the room. It sprang at Schava but she swatted it from the air with her longbow.

Not sure what it was but certain it meant them harm, Neville aimed a hand at it and shouted, “Vyzwal!” A blast of poison engulfed the thing. He made sure to aim at the floor, low enough that he would not harm the others. Elyn had the same idea as a beam of cold, blue-white energy struck the stone floor next to the creature. It flipped itself from its back to its feet and he saw that it was nothing more than a large rat. He expected it to die instantly but it completely ignored the cloud of death that surrounded it and jumped up at Elyn.

She had to be as surprised as he was. It landed on her chest and bit her neck. She screamed and threw it off. Neville saw a spurt of blood spatter the back of Rohgrin’s armor. Meanwhile he skewered the smoke creature in front of him in the light of his flaming shield.

Andusili lept from Neville’s shoulder and pounced on the rat, the darkness not impeding her keen eyes in the slightest. He could vicariously feel her sinking her teeth into its flesh, then hold it down to make it an easy target for him. With guidance from being in Aradusili’s mind Neville brought his staff down directly on the rat’s head.

There was a final  _ twang _ of Schava’s longbow as an arrow sliced through the corporeal smoke in front of Rohgrin. It exploded in a puff and the giant man shouted, rubbing at his eyes. “Where are they!? Where are they?”

“It’s fine, that was the last of them,” Schava shouted at him as she ran to Elyn and pulled a potion from her pack.

“Heal,” Elyn mumbled with one last strum of her harp before waving the potion away. “I’m fine, see? Light!”  she added, her tone weak and undermining her words. The blood had stopped spurting from the wound, but the orbs that she conjured illuminated a grisly scene as her neck and shoulder were completely covered in blood.

Through their connection Neville felt Aradusili release the spell that was affecting Rohgrin. The man swayed a bit as the ground rushed towards him, but otherwise there seemed to be no after effects. Blinking the smoke from his eyes he unstrapped his shield and extinguished the flames.

Neville was proud that he managed to work that spell. A month ago he had been incapable of such powerful magic. He sat against the nearest wall, letting his body rest from the exhaustion that his spells wrought. From there he waved his hand and said, “Quazifitation,” over and over. Each time a bit more of all the various gore and unpleasantness left after the battle was cleaned. The blood on Elyn’s neck dried and crumbled away to dust in an instant, revealing a wound that looked raw and red but it was at least not life-threatening anymore. The rat brains on his staff and Aradusili’s scales vanished. Then Rohgrin’s armor was shining steel again, although his shield would need more careful tending.

He did notice, then, that what had been a dead rat was slowly growing in size, turning scarlet red, protruding two very similar batlike wings, and growing a stinger on the end of its tail. It remained dead while it did so, which he was grateful for, but it was unnerving.

“This place is clearly not safe,” Neville said. “We need to get out of here.”

“Why don’t we talk about how you two just pumped a bunch of magic into me?” Rohgrin said.

“I’m sorry,” Elyn started. “I should have asked, but there wasn’t enough time. Did it hurt?”

“No, it didn’t hurt. When you chanted I felt like a godsdamn hero. It’s not that it was bad, it’s how unnatural it was. And you-” he said, turning to Neville.

“Hey, I tried to ask you,” Neville interrupted. “It was the best thing to do in that moment and I do not regret it in the slightest. Those fiends could have done a lot more damage if they had managed to get in here with us.”

Schava stood and said, “Will you shut up! We came here for one thing, and that’s the gold we were promised. It’s time to stop fucking around.” She removed a pyramidal vial filled with green liquid from her pack and said, “If there is anything worth taking, this will help us find it. We get it and get out of this place. Deal?”

“What is that?” Neville asked, curious. It was a shiny green, like a potion of waterbreathing, or maybe just straight poison.

“I bought it in town, it’s a potion of treasure finding.”

He scoffed. “Schava, there is no such thing.”

“You know everything about magic now, do you?”

“No, but I definitely know more than you do. Put that down. It reeks of fel magic and - ”

Once it was unstoppered he definitely sensed the negative energy of a curse, but Schava ignored him and downed it in a single gulp. He had a single vial of general-use antitoxin he had made for himself in case he accidentally ingested something while brewing a potion, but it was mainly for the plant toxins he was likely to encounter in such work. He doubted he could save her from whatever she had just consumed.

This all passed at the speed of thought between his mind and Aradusili’s and she started speaking in rapid sylvan, berating the wood elf for her recklessness.

Meanwhile, Schava looked at the empty glass in her hand. Her head tilted as if she was just seeing it for the first time. Then she broke into a huge smile and looked towards the passage they had come from.

“Fen lesh id raloque shadabba!” she said in a triumphant tone before looking back at the others.

“Did anyone understand her?”

Elyn and Rohgrin shook their heads.

“Lesh tenoid far di!”

Neville laughed. That was a lot better than it could have been, he had feared a curse of madness or maybe a basilisk concoction that would slowly turn her to stone, but it seemed much less deadly than that. “Well, great job, Schava. You cursed yourself with babbling.”


	9. Scales of Silver

Aradusili wanted to fly over and smack Schava with her tail. A curse of babbling! Under any other circumstances she would be cackling at such a beautiful plight. Directly after wrestling a devil-rat and seeing the human magic wielder that was called Elyn have her throat literally ripped out was one of the few times in her life that she was not in a joking mood.

Schava shouted more nonsense and pointed down the corridor.

The human said something in response.

Exasperated, the wood elf stopped trying to speak and instead pulled a single platinum coin out. She pointed first to it, then down the corridor past where they had come.

The mortals looked at each other.

“She is clearly still intelligent, and she is _probably_ still sane,” Neville said. Though she could not understand the sounds she traced their meaning along his mind as he uttered them. “I do not feel any illusion magic around her. Maybe it really was a potion of treasure finding? Let us give it another hour. If we do not find anything, we can roll up that tapestry and head back to the village. How about that?”

The others agreed begrudgingly. Aradusili could feel it clear in his thoughts, the discovery of the tapestry meant there was likely hidden knowledge in the ruins to be uncovered.

“ _If you mortals get me killed I will haunt your descendants for all time.”_

 _“None of us have descendants_ ,” Neville said.

_“Your firstborn, then.”_

They passed the breach in the wall and its rubble. After another thirty feet the hallways turned left abruptly. A doorway came into view along the right but from the hallway they could see that the room was blocked halfway in by a collapsed ceiling.

Continuing past, the corridor ran long ahead of them. In one place the ground seemed to have moved because the walls were misaligned by two inches and there was a rather high step down. It was a disturbing reminder of how deep underground they were.

Schava walked alongside her and Neville. As they were about to step through to the lower section of tunnel the elf threw her hand out in front of Neville, almost knocking Aradusili from his shoulders.

They stopped. Carefully, Schava dropped to the floor with a dagger in hand. She motioned the others back and when everyone was out of the way she jerked the dagger. A wire broke and from grooves in the walls ahead two bent saplings with bits of sharp metal tied to them snapped around, hitting nothing.

“Well done,” Aradusili said to her. Schava just rolled her eyes as she pushed the sapling out of her way.

After another fifty feet the stone hallway branched off to their left. A similar tunnel extended into the darkness while the first corridor continued straight. Schava started quickly down the left path but quickly stopped and held up an arm. Too late, Neville almost lost his balance as a stone was pushed down by his weight.

Aradusili vicariously felt pain in her side as Neville was hit in the ribs with something sharp. At the same time a second arrow struck Rohgrin’s armor with a dull _clang_.

“Fuck!” Neville shouted as he put pressure on the wound. Through his mind and his gently probing fingers she understood that the arrow had hit one of his ribs. The cut bled but his organs were all unharmed.

Elyn said something in mortal-speak.

Neville told her they needed to stop soon to rest and bandage everyone’s wounds anyway, but that they should press on until they found a defensible location.

The lights above the mortals’ heads illuminated a small area around them, but she did not need the magic and she knew Schava and Neville did not either. So she saw the narrow hall they were traversing widen into a larger chamber long before they came to it.

“Stop!” she whispered in sylvan and into the mage’s mind. Neville and Schava did so immediately, the others got the idea quickly enough.

Now away from the sulfur left by the fiends, she could smell properly again. The sense of impending evil that she had felt when she discovered the manticore’s lair and when the fiends had been approaching was a primal, instinctual thing. Now she detected something similar. Forty feet from them sat something large and hungry, but also curious. She definitely smelled metal, maybe copper or silver. It was unquestionably male.

“There is a dragon up ahead,” she said before giving Neville the details. “ _Much larger than I am. Probably as large or larger than the manticore. It smells curious.”_

_“Something is wrong with it?”_

_“No, it is curious of us, and slightly territorial. It does not smell angry, or afraid, or overtly concerned. It smells curious.”_

Neville relayed this to the others in the mortal tongue.

“Isn’t she also a dragon?” Rohgrin asked. She only understood this because Neville picked over how the man said it as he formed a response.

“Well, yes, but she is a species from the feywild - ”

The man interrupted, completely unintelligible to her.

She felt the mage take a deep breath before saying, “A different plane of existence than the one we are on now. Usually on our plane dragons are bigger. I assume that is what you think of when the word is used. The creature ahead is one of those dragons.”

A rumbling growl silenced their bickering. The smell of mortal fear spiked, thankfully overpowering her own. Then a voice came from the darkness beyond the corridor. She recognized this hissing and slithering and clicking of teeth.

“Who are you?” the dragon asked in draconic.

“I am Aradusili. Four mortals are with me,” she said back in kind.

“A dragonling? Interesting. I am Sumallu. What is your purpose here, Aradusili?”

“The mortals and I came to kill the manticore in the caves. We succeeded but were attacked by devils as well. Is this your lair?”

He huffed and light fog wafted towards them. The air got a bit colder. The mortals all took a step back, and as a reflexive response Aradusili released her breath. Gray smoke that sparkled with prismatic colors puffed in the darkness. The stink of fear was almost unbearable.

“I am no beast, as you should well know. I do not live in a _lair._ My _home_ is down the passage behind me. I heard the sound of battle and thought to greet you at the door, so to speak. You may show yourselves if you wish. I will not bite without provocation.”

Aradusili flattened her invisible ears to her invisible head. She let Neville understand the words as she heard them, then he translated for the others. The mortals bickered for a moment. They snapped at Schava, which made her a little conflicted. On the one hand she had known the wood elf since Schava was just a scared girl, lost in the woods. On the other hand, she could certainly use a strong rebuke every so often.

Elyn seemed to cut the conversation short and pushed past Neville, stepping forward into the room. The others were not so quick to do so.

Neville’s thoughts intruded on hers. “ _Do you think it is a trick?”_

_“Maybe. Probably not. Either way I know you are too curious not to, and I will not let you venture into a dragon’s lair alone.”_

She felt a swell of gratitude from him. “ _Thanks.”_

 

 **.** **.** **.**

 

Elyn steeled her will and stepped forward into the darkened room. The slender silver head of a dragon was revealed by her light. The head itself was about as large as Rohgrin’s armored torso. Its eyes were as large as her fist and narrowed to slits, not unlike the manticores. It was a reminder that they were no longer on the well-trod road through the tuvlands. They had ventured into the realm of beast and bandit, of demon and dragon, and while they had managed to scrape by with their lives so far there was no promise to see tomorrow.

The dragon’s snout pointed at her, then behind at the others. It tasted the air with a forked tongue before looking back to her as she reached the center of the room, ten feet from its head and well within killing range. She knew they had no chance of surviving if it decided to attack, and Aradusili had said it would not attack unless provoked. If they wanted to get out of this alive, she needed to talk their way out of it.

Its mouth opened. Instead of the hissing, growling sounds that it had used before it spoke in a guttural common.

“You are wounded.”

A hand went reflexively to the place where a demonic rat had tried its best to tear her throat out. The new flesh was raw and ragged. “Yes, courtesy of one of the fiends we encountered. It is nothing. We have not yet been properly introduced. I am Elyn of Dunmoore.”

“I am Sumallu, outcast of the great nest of Thoorp.”

Her heart thudded a bit harder and Sumallu’s nostrils flared. That was not a good sign.

“I have been to Thoorp before. The silver dragons of all sizes that roam its skies were a sight unlike anything else I have ever seen. Your kind mingled among the humans, orcs, drox, and dwarves of the city. I remember the smaller ones always asking questions and the larger ones keeping watch on the Treasury. If you don’t mind my asking, how did you come to be here?”

“Mortals are an interesting lot, and your creativity and ingenuity know no bounds. Especially you humans and orcs and the few dragonkin. I am always surprised by how much you can achieve in your short lives. But the notion of sitting on a hoard that is not rightfully mine is disgusting. The idea that an orc or a dwarf or a human can approach and ask to take their share of the hoard I guard away, it goes against every fiber of my being. I left and found this place, where I can collect a hoard of my own.”

“I understand. It must be lonely up here, though.”

There was the briefest of pauses before Sumallu replied. “A warren of kobolds below sometimes keep me company or bring me treasure. I can fly as well, so when I want for conversation I go and find it.”

“A warren of kobolds? I have only ever heard of these creatures. What are they?”

“Why are you in these ruins?” Sumallu asked, somewhat impatiently.

“We came up the mountain to kill a manticore, but once it was slain we decided to look for any treasure it might have. Since then we have found only an old tapestry, a group of fiends, some traps, and you.” He did not respond to this so she continued with a different question. “What were these ruins?”

“I have lived in these walls for eleven seasons. I have discovered many things in that time. From what I have discerned, this was built to be a temple to a powerful devil called Kyn. The cult that practiced here has been gone for at least a hundred years. You are welcome to pursue the mysteries of the lower levels for yourself, but I do not know how much farther the ruins extend. My exploration has been limited by the fact that I am too large to fit in most of the passages.”

Sumallu paused. It seemed like he was considering, then he continued. “For example, I cannot reach the manticore’s nest, else I would have ripped its evil wings from its body and froze it with my breath as it deserved. I am young for a dragon, and this is my first home away from under my mother’s wing. I was. . . frustrated that I could not cleanse my home of such an evil creature, and fiends regularly emerge from the depths of the ruins to annoy me. I have instructed the kobolds to seal or trap the tunnels they emerge from but somehow they still get through. It is a great favor to me that you have destroyed the manticore. What would you like in payment for this service?”

Elyn was suspicious. Was this a trick? A boon so easily given?

“That is a generous offer, but if I understand correctly dragons are loth to part with any part of their hoard.”

Sumallu bared his teeth. “You are correct, and if you had asked I would have eaten you. You have done me a service regardless. I will see to it that you are appropriately rewarded. Come, before I change my mind.”

The silver dragon turned and slithered down a corridor away from them. She could faintly hear his scales as they scraped against the walls and his talons as they _clinked_ against the stone floor. The passage was short, and Elyn emerged into a larger room about eighty feet long and sixty feet wide.

The ceiling here was terraced, like it had been in the tapestry room. The first ten foot section was ringed with columns of stone. Some of the columns had more tapestries strung between them, though none were as intricate as the one with all the creatures that Neville had been fascinated with. A wide swath of natural light in the middle indicated a hole above. Another entrance looked like it was freshly carved out of the stone on the left side of the room. It was not pretty.

Sumallu turned towards the far right corner of the room. The light from the ceiling did not reach it fully, but Elyn definitely saw the glinting and flashing of treasure there.

“Do not move closer than the light. And bind your wounds already, the smell of your blood offends me.”

The other three were behind her. Neville immediately pulled some herbs and bandages from his pack and began treating his side. Rohgrin took his shield off and considered the damage the fiends had done. Schava stared hungrily at the treasure in the corner.

They heard clinking and scraping but Sumallu did not seem intent on returning to them because a few minutes passed. Once Neville finished with himself he motioned Elyn over and she complied. He carefully applied a poultice of ground herbs and then bandaged the jagged red wound on her neck, tight enough to be effective but loose enough for her to breath.

“Rohgrin,” he said when he finished. “I can fix that for you.” Elyn watched as the mage produced two loadstones and rubbed them across the surface of the shield. He chanted, “Lechi,” as he did and the burnt wood and cracked metal magically knit itself back together.

Sumallu returned then. He walked on three legs, his front claw clutched to his chest. “You will not be taking coin from my hoard, but there are a few magical trinkets that I have collected but have no use for. You may choose one of these for your reward.”

The silver dragon let three things tumble into the circle of light in the middle of the room from its clawed forearm. The first was a quiver. It skittered across the stonework towards them and four arrows splayed out, still halfway inside it. The second was a silver circlet with a pearl embedded in its center. It almost seemed to flake off pieces of gold filigree as it hit the ground but when Elyn looked again the flecks were gone. The last was a shield made of turquoise glass with a steel centerpiece and no metal rim. It was a more typical shield shape than Rohgrin’s round shield, with a single point at the bottom and three equally spaced points at the top.

“What’s special about the shield?” Rohgrin asked.

“It floats around and protects you without needing to hold it. A dwarf wielded it when he and his compatriots tried to steal from my hoard. He is dead now. It looks pretty, but its magic is wasted lying here.”

Elyn knew she should not, but her curiosity get the best of her. She asked, “What happened to the dwarf and his compatriots?”

“It took them a few days to thaw fully, but once they melted I gave their corpses to the kobolds.”

She saw Neville frown. “That seems a bit harsh.”

“They managed to tear my wing, and I was grounded for a week. I did it in anger. That is why I would rather be rid of the feather-teeth that wounded me,” he said, looking to Schava who stood over the arrows. She turned white. “Something is off about you,” Sumallu said to her.

Elyn quickly interceded. “Oh, don’t worry about her. She managed to get herself cursed and now everything she says is gibberish.”

The dragon huffed. “That is amusing.”

“Aradusili feels the same. What about that circlet?”

“An item uncovered by the kobolds from the ruins below. I do not know what it is, but it looks ancient. I swear I have accidentally broken it a score of times, and yet it is not broken.”

“Are any of them cursed?” Neville asked, looking at the circlet as he did.

“Not that I know of. I have seen the shield and arrows used by mortals.”

The mage looked around at her, Rohgrin, and Schava. “I do not detect any trace of fel magic, but we should be careful.”

Elyn asked, “Would it be alright if we handled them? To see if we can understand what they do?”

“They do not leave the light.”

“Understood.”

They approached. Rohgrin went straight for the shield. Schava picked up the arrows. Elyn and Neville looked at the circlet. As she drew near Elyn sensed magic radiating from all of the items. The circlet’s magic almost hummed, like how her music hummed with power when she cast a spell. The arrows’ aura felt like rigid iron, utilitarian and without flair. The shield emanated a sense of unwavering safety.

“Can I try it on, or do you want to?” she asked Neville. He looked at it, then her, then handed it to her. It was incredibly light and had intricate gold suns worked into the metal, and the pearl at its peak looked like it was about to fall out of its setting.

“Shit,” Neville said, his gaze moving to the side of her head as she put it on. Then his brows furrowed. “It. . . I swear some it just came off, but. . .”

“That is what I mentioned. It is fragile, and yet it does not break,” Sumallu said.

As the circlet settled on her brow, very little changed. She sensed a slight acuity that had not been there before, but it was not particularly powerful.

“What is it like?”

“There is definitely a spell in it, like the lyre. And I feel. . . brighter. I don’t know how though.”

“May I?” Neville asked. She removed the circlet and handed it over, a bit of gold filigree flaking off as she did. He placed it on his head and closed his eyes. “Hmm. That is odd, I thought it took longer than that to become acquainted with magic items. Oh. I know this spell. Well, I mean I know of it, I cannot cast it myself. Let me. . .” he trailed off, opening his eyes again and looked over at Rohgrin. “Would you like to know what that does?”

Elyn sensed a surge of magic as Neville put one hand to his forehead where the circlet’s pearl sat, then he reached out with his other hand and touched the face of the turquoise shield.

“Woah. It is enchanted to put itself between you and incoming attacks, and. . . yes, if you say ‘spida’ it will hover around you without having to hold it. It will take some time to get a feel for the magic, but anyone can do it once you know the magic word.”

Schava held out the arrows and said, “Befhiln.”

Neville frowned. “I cannot cast the spell again, but I do not need it to know what those are. They are sharper than they could ever be made by mundane means, and they will hit what you aim at more often than regular arrows.”

Sumallu, who had been watching intently, asked. “Do you intend to take the circlet, the shield, or the feather-teeth?

“Which one is the best?” she asked. Simultaneously Rohgrin held up the shield, Schava held up the arrows, and Neville pointed to the circlet. Elyn frowned.

Neville took the opportunity to make his case. “Schava, if I had this when you drank that potion, I would have been able to tell you it was cursed. Elyn, this can reveal exactly what powers your lyre has. Consider that.” A moment of silence passed before he added, “Aradusili thinks the arrows are most likely to keep us alive, the little traitor.”

“I was thinking the same thing, actually. If we kill whatever tried to attack us before it can reach us, a shield doesn’t matter,” Elyn said reluctantly. Schava was the least deserving of them all to get a reward.

The wood elf smiled a broad smile and put the four magic arrows into her quiver.

“Actually, Sumallu,” Neville said, facing the dragon. “I might have a deal for you. - ”

“Return the other two items. Now.”

“Alright, no need to be pushy,” he said as he removed the circlet and handed it over. “Do you like myths?”

Sumallu’s head turned to the side slightly as he took the circlet on an outstretched claw and the shield in his scaly paw. He continued to speak even as he turned away towards his hoard. “I do. Why do you ask?”

“I am wondering if you have ever seen the tapestry from another room in these ruins before. I think it is very interesting. It tells the legend of the Tarrasque in dyed fabric and cloth of silver and gold, but it is much too heavy for us to take with us when we leave. If we bring it to you, would you be willing to trade such a thing for the circlet?”

“I have never heard of a Tarrasque, but if you bring the tapestry to me I may give you the circlet. I have less impressive trinkets to trade if it proves to be less than remarkable.”

He looked excited. It was not a bad idea, but the tapestry would be difficult even if all four of them carried it at once. Elyn did not look forward to it, but if it meant them having another bit of magic to help them she was willing to go along.

 

 **.** **.** **.**

 

Schava was getting tired of not being able to communicate. As they traversed their way back towards the room with the tapestry Elyn almost walked into one of the traps that she had pointed out before. She had to pull her out of the way just before she stepped on the stone tile that would set it off, and she only received a sour look for her effort.

The rat-turned-devil was still there and the smell was getting steadily worse. Neville asked them to pull the tapestry down off the line of hooks it hung from and roll it into a cylinder. Rohgrin asked what was in it for him, echoing her own thoughts, but the mage just rolled his eyes, said that he would do it himself, and started drawing in the dirt.

As far as she was concerned he was certainly free to try. The effects of the treasure finding potion was still in effect and Schava did not intend to waste it. The massive pile of coins that comprised Sumallu’s hoard was like the sun on a summer day, but that was not the only source of silver, gold, and platinum that she could feel. Through the magic of the potion she knew that there was some amount of treasure in the sarcophagus, but it felt faint. Probably not worth the effort of opening it and possibly disturbing whatever else was inside. A similarly faint smell of treasure came from the tapestry itself, woven as it was with cloth of various precious metals.

Those were not the only sources of treasure she sensed, though. There were many other traces like the tapestry and the sarcophagus, and there were two larger caches that caught her attention now that she made the effort to look past the blazing inferno that she knew was guarded by a dragon. Neither was a tenth the size of Sumallu’s hoard. The closest was sixty feet down and four hundred feet. . . _that_ way. She was not sure what was east or west anymore, they had been too long underground. But she felt it, she could almost see it through the stone. The distances might be off by a little but she was sure she could find it. The second was just at the edge of her new sense, about two hundred feet down and somewhere between seven and eight hundred feet in the opposite direction of Sumallu.

After a minute of watching him mutter nonsense and draw in the dust on the floor she looked towards the other two exits. One was still barred with a metal grate, but the one she had been inspecting earlier where the fiends had come through was open. She nudged Rohgrin and gestured to the archway. He nodded, readying his shield and spear. Schava made sure her daggers were loose in their sheaths and nocked one of her new arrows.

“What’s wrong?” she heard Elyn asked nervously. “Did you hear something?”

“No,” Rohgrin said. “We’re just going to do a little scouting.”

“We should stick together. What if more of those fiends show up?”

“We won’t go far,” he said. She heard in his voice that he was not extremely committed to that promise, which was good because she was not at all. “Can you make this go away?” he asked, motioning to the orb of light above his head.

“Don’t you need light?”

“I don’t know how to tell you this Elyn, but you are literally the only one here who can’t see in the dark.”

Schava could not help but chuckle as the lights went out. Beyond the archway was another room. While the rest of the ruins had wide, utilitarian stone tiles covering the floor, this room had a very clear intent to be decorative. It was significantly less likely to have traps than a corridor, because making things look pretty and deadly at the same time makes both more difficult. The center was a mosaic, an intricate pattern of different colored squares separated by red and black lines.

The space was larger than the room with the tapestry and more regular. There were no alcoves that jutted off, it was simply a large rectangular room about fifty feet long and forty feet wide, and it was completely devoid of furniture. The dragon had mentioned a cult, maybe it was a prayer or ritual room of some sort. The archway she and Rohgrin entered through emerged into a corner of the room, and down the same wall she knew there was another archway because that was where the fiends had come from. She got Rohgrin’s attention and lead him that way.

The empty space echoed slightly, but for the most part Rohgrin managed to keep quiet behind her. It probably helped that she kept them to a slow pace, listening intently for anything around the corner.

Schava came to the archway and gave the threshold a long look. The fiends had been flying, so it was possible they passed over a trap without disturbing it. She knew what to look for now that Sumallu had told them kobolds set the traps. If the stories were to be believed, their clever little lizard hands could turn just about anything into a deathtrap.

After thirty seconds of careful inspection, she determined it was safe. She stepped through and looked around, and her first impression was of a barracks. Stone benches encircled a shallow pit in the ground that was probably for a fire. There was the long-collapsed remnants of a table, and along the walls were stone slabs with the vestiges of bedding on them.

There were four other entrances. Going clockwise, a hallway on the left probably lead back to the tapestry room and the metal grate. Directly across from where they stood was an open archway that led beyond her sight. In the corner to the right of that was another open archway. That wall lead to an alcove with curved walls directly to their right where she saw the last passage, a wooden door that looked similar to the one Rohgrin had broken down when they first entered the ruins.

She crouched down. The dust on the floor was undisturbed where she could see. Nothing had passed through in a long time, at least not on foot. She carefully made her way into the room. Her years of experience casing buildings and scanning rooms for someone who might recognize her and blow her scams came in handy. Her gut told her the beds would be the most likely to have any remaining valuables and the effects of the potion confirmed it.

Schava started towards the closest stone bed to sift through the rotted bedding for satchels or weapons when it started to get brighter behind her.

“Hey, guys? Neville has the tapestry. We should keep together on the way back.”

Rohgrin looked at her with raised eyebrows and said, “Oh, I’ve got to see this.”

They made their way back to the room with Elyn. There the mage stood, the tapestry rolled and hovering about waist height on nothing. It bowed in the middle and the ends almost dragged on the ground, but it could move.

From beside her she could feel Rohgrin’s disbelief. He turned and said, “See? This is what I was talking about last night, about magic. What the fuck is that. That is not possible.”

She could not respond, and neither Elyn nor Neville seemed interested in addressing his rejection of the reality in front of them, so they started off towards Sumallu’s lair again. The rolled tapestry rotated so that it followed them longwise down the passage.

For the third time in an hour they passed the crack in the corridor wall that lead through the manticore’s nest and out to freedom. Schava was starting to feel a little sick of being underground, but she could not buy a meal or rent a room at an inn or a ship’s passage with four enchanted arrows. If this was going to be worthwhile they would have to find one of those smaller piles of treasure she had sensed.

When Sumallu saw the tapestry he was impressed enough to give Neville the shiny headband. The mage offered to hang it since it would be difficult for Sumallu, being a dragon and all, but that was just about the last thread of Schava’s impatience. She had no idea when she would lose her new ability to smell money, but she was pretty sure it would not be permanent.

She yelled for their attention. The mage and the dragon looked over. Making exaggerated motions so Sumallu would not get any of the wrong ideas, Schava took her one platinum piece out. She tapped the center of her chest, then pointed to her eyes, then the coin that she was so often using as a prop. _I see coin._ Then she pointed back the way they came and snapped a few times in slow, methodical time. _That way, it won’t last forever_.

They was sharper than dull rocks. They understood what she was saying, and Neville made his leave of the dragon.

Again Schava led the other three around the one remaining trap in the corridor, although this time everyone appeared to have a general idea of where not to step. Progress comes slowly.

They passed the empty room with the mosaic on the floor and pushed on to the barracks room. She skipped over the beds. Instead she made a mental note of which ones to search later and pressed on.

They needed to find a way down and to the right. There was only one passage that lead that way so Schava crossed the room towards it. There she saw tracks, disturbances in the dust of decades or centuries. It was an infrequently used pathway of humanoids her size, so it was not kobolds. All of the tracks went between the open archway she had been intending to use and the second archway, now a dozen feet to her right. One of the sets of bootprints was recent, probably within a day. She held up a hand.

Very slowly and quietly she approached the archway. There were no traps that she could see, but she took her steps carefully. The corridor turned to the left about forty feet down and she could sense fresh air and the slightest glow of light from around that corner.

It was another way out.

Schava turned to the other four. They looked at her blankly. Would it be easier to just lead them there instead of trying to tell them with her hands? Eh, fuck it. Might as well try to save time by staying closer to the treasure.

She tapped her nose and took a deep breath. _Smell that?_ She waited until at least Neville copied her before pointing down the corridor, then pointing up. _That way is outside._

“Then let’s go,” Rohgrin said.

She quickly held out two hands. _Wait_ . The basic hand signs that Erom and his gang had used to communicate silently was proving invaluable. She held out the coin again, then pointed down. _Treasure is down._

“Ah,” Neville said. “Let us see what we can learn first.”

Following the tracks to the other archway, she looked in the room. That moment marked exactly an hour after she had downed the potion of treasure finding, and suddenly her sixth sense was gone. She sighed in disappointment. She knew the general direction of where the nearest cache was, she would just had to remember it.

The right wall of the new room was plain and the back wall was similarly boring, but the left side of the room was partially blocked by a ten foot long curtain. The tracks led into the room and around the curtain. Schava led them in and glanced around the moth-eaten bolts of fabric that hung from the ceiling.

She could see what looked like another sarcophagus at the far end, or maybe it was an altar, flanked on either side by iron doors. A stone idol two feet tall was atop it depicting a man sitting cross-legged with a sword held horizontally above his head. There was a rug to the far right of the room about halfway towards the stone slab that looked out of place but nothing else seemed dangerous.

Schava weighed the options of walking in the tracks that were already there or hugging a wall down the room. She decided it was easier to check the ground herself, since she could not think of a way to tell the others ‘step directly on the footprints and nowhere else’ with just hand motions.

They made it about twenty feet into the room along the right wall before Rohgrin suddenly pushed past her and sprinted ahead. Schava shouted and tried to grab him but he shrugged her off like a raging bull. He swiped with his spear and knocked the stone idol from its pedestal, then with the weight of his armored leg he crushed it beneath his boot.

Elyn, Neville, and Aradusili all reacted too late. Only the faerie dragon could really do anything, but by the time Schava heard her magical, commanding voice erupt from the mage’s mouth the entire floor was already falling away beneath them.

 

 **.** **.** **.**

 

Sangama stood tall and addressed Kynardor as he sat on his seat of power. Today he wore his armor, to the apparent chagrin of the incubi and succubi around him.

“There are four mortals on their way to the Halls of Kyn. One is Rohgrin the half-elf, a pure soul who yearns for magic in his veins with a passion I have rarely seen. The others are less useful; they have each sent souls of their fellow mortals to the Void. One is an elf with the seeds of evil already planted in her heart, as well as a nigh incorruptible mage, and the bastard daughter of the Count of Settaque.”

“Bastard, or disowned? Bastards are by birth, like you, and Henry Settaque does not have any bastards. Fidelity is one of his few virtues.” Sangama almost flinched as the words lashed her mind like a whip, but she restrained herself. She knew any sign of weakness would be punished. “And no mortal is incorruptible. How powerful is the mage?”

“Hardly competent at all. His control over the arcane is like a spark to the inferno, but I did sense a strong will in him. I would ask the opportunity to turn him.”

“No! I have other plans for them. How do you know they will find the Halls?”

“A manticore made its nest in one of the caves above the Halls. I baited the elf to the entrance with the promise of gold if they disposed of it, then used the Dreamkey on Rohgrin to ensure he will enter.”

Kynardor sneered. “Very well. We shall see if your judgement of these creatures was accurate.” He stood from the throne and said, “Come with me, daughter.”

She followed as he led the way through the corridors of his court on the shore of the river Styx. They came to the door made of blood iron that she had used previously. It opened before Kynardor on its own. He stepped through and she followed him into the darkened Halls of Kyn the Betrayer.


End file.
